JOHN    BUST 


"That's  a  portrait  of  Miss  Garden  — Miss  Jessie  Garden 
of  Boston,"  said  Blake. 


JOHN  BURT 


By  FREDERICK   UPHAM  ADAMS 

Author  of  "The  Kidnapped  Millionaires" 
"Colonel  Monroe's  Doctrine" 


GROSSET     &     DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS         ::          ::         NEW    YORK 


COPYRIGHT,   190* 
FREDERICK.  UPHAM  ADAMS 

COPYRIGHT,    1903 
•*  A.  J.    DREXEL    B1DDLB 

ALL    RIGHT1    BK3KKVSD 


JDcDicatcD  to 


2134117 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  The  Prophet's  Prayer, ....       9 
II.  Jessie  Garden, 14 

III.  John  Burt's  Boyhood,  .         .         .         .26 

IV.  James  Blake, 35 

V.  The  Runaway, 41 

VI.  Summer  Days, 50 

VII.  Arthur  Morris, 64 

VIII.  Jealousy, 73 

IX.  The  Tragedy, 83 

X.  The  Parting, 93 

XI.  Exiled, 103 

XII.  Samuel  Lemuel  Rounds,        .         .         .  115 

XIII.  Sam's  New  York  Triumphs,         .         .  134 

XIV.  Lost  in  the  Snow,          ....  144 
XV.  The  Sailor  Mine, 156 

XVI.  The  Quest  for  Gold,     .         .         .         .167 

XVII.  The  Capitalist, 175 

XVIII.  Success  and  Failure,      .         .         .         .186 

XIX.  A  Brilliant  Campaign,  .         .         .         .197 

XX.  In  Strict  Confidence,     .         .         .         .206 

XXI.  Bad  News,    ......  221 

XXII.  A  Foreign  Mission,      .         .         .         .238 

XXIII.  Diplomacy,   .         .     £'.        .         .         .249 

XXIV.  Two  Strange  Interviews,       .         .         .267 
XXV.  General  Garden  is  Puzzled, .         .         .275 

XXVI.  Breaking  Old  Ties,       .        .        .        .288 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXVII.  Unreasoning  Passion,       .         .         .  305 

XXVIII.  Measuring  Lances,  .         .         .316 

XXIX.  Alderman  Rounds,  .         .         .  321 

XXX.  On  Thin  Ice, 334 

XXXI.  The  Mantle  of  Charity, .         .         .347 
XXXII.  Hawkins  Makes  a  Discovery,          .  360 

XXXIII.  Sam  Rounds  Repents,     .        .        .375 

XXXIV.  The  Love  of  a  Man  for  a  Woman,  387 
XXXV.  Edith's  Confession,          .         .         .400 

XXXVI.  Tale  of  the  Ticker,  .  .  .405 

XXXVII.  Father  and  Son,       .  .  .  .420 

XXXVIII.  Blake's  Sacrifice,      .  .  .  .426 

XXXIX.  Through  the  Heart,  .  .  .441 

XL.  Shadow  of  Death,   .  .  .  .449 

XLI.  A  Mendacious  God,  .  .  .  454 

XLII.  The  End, 463 


VI 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


"That's  a  portrait  of  Miss  Garden — Miss 

Jessie  Garden  of  Boston,"  said  Blake  Frontispiece 

The   next  instant  a  bearded  face  appeared 
from  the  folds  of  a  heavy  overcoat  . 

Facing  page  149 

With   old   school  dignity  General   Garden 

presented  James  Blake         -         Facing  page  291 

Like  a  column  pushed  from  its  base  he  fell 

Facing  page  448 


VII 


John  Burt 


CHAPTER  ONE     ::     THE  PROPHET'S  PRAYER 

KNEEL,  John.     Take  off  your  hat,  lad.     Let 
us  pray !  " 

An  old  man  and  a  boy  clung  like  wreck- 
age to  a  rock  which  marked  the  outer  edge  of  Black 
Reef.  The  flickering  light  of  a  lantern  accentuated 
the  gloom  of  the  night;  a  night  famous  in  the  annals 
of  New  England  for  the  storm  which  tore  the  coast 
from  Quoddy  Head  to  Siasconset.  Darkness  fell 
at  three  o'clock  that  murky  November  day,  and  the 
half  gale  from  the  south  waned,  only  to  gain  strength 
for  the  blast  which,  at  turn  of  the  tide,  roared 
in  from  the  northeast. 

Black  Reef  is  a  jagged  spur  of  the  rock-walled 
coast  which  holds  the  Atlantic  at  bay  in  the  crescent 
sweep  of  beach  and  cliff  from  Nantasket  to  Co- 
hasset.  Forty  years  ago  the  scattered  houses  of  a 
few  farmers  nestled  among  the  hills  well  back  from 
the  beach. 

The  lantern's  light  revealed  two  figures  worthy 
the  pencil  of  a  Hogarth.  Bared  to  the  gale,  the 
old  man's  scant  white  locks  streamed  back  from  a 
forehead  massive  and  unfurrowed.  Wonderful  eyes 
of  steel  gray  glowed  with  fires  of  fanaticism  be- 
neath dark,  shadowing  eyebrows  scarcely  touched 
with  the  rime  of  years.  The  thin  lips  parted  in  a 
line  which  suggested  implacable  tenacity  of  pur- 


JOHN  B        U        R       T 

pose,  not  halting  at  cruelty  nor  stopping  at 
cunning.  Above  the  mouth,  the  head  was  that 
of  a  Greek  god ;  below  it  showed  the  civilized 
savage — selfish,  relentless — the  incarnation  of  cour- 
age, strength,  and  determination.  The  man's 
frame  was  so  broad  that  the  legs  seemed  stumpy, 
yet  Peter  Burt  stood  six  feet  four  at  three  score 
years  and  ten. 

His  companion  on  this  night  mission  to  hurri- 
cane-swept Black  Reef  was  a  boy  of  eight.  When 
he  removed  his  cap  at  the  old  man's  command,  it 
released  dark  curls  clustering  over  a  high  and  well- 
formed  brow.  No  fear  of  the  storm  or  of  the 
strange  old  man  showed  in  the  dark  gray  eyes  of 
the  youth.  He  was  garbed  in  a  tightly  buttoned 
jacket  and  a  pair  of  homespun  trousers,  securely 
tucked  into  copper-toed  boots.  The  ends  of  a 
blue  yarn  "comforter"  fluttered  in  the  gale. 

As  the  old  man  spoke,  a  wave  dashed  its  icy 
spray  across  the  rock. 

41  It's  awful  wet,  granddad.  Can't  I  stand  up 
and  pray?" 

"  Kneel,  my  boy,  kneel,"  replied  the  old  man 
in  a  deep  but  not  unkind  voice.  "  The  Lord  will 
not  harm  His  servants  whether  they  approach  Him 
in  storm  or  in  calm." 

Clinging  to  the  projecting  edge  of  the  rock, 
young  John  Burt  knelt  at  the  edge  of  a  pool  left  by 
the  wave.  Above  the  roar  of  the  surf  there  came 
to  his  ears  the  notes  of  a  distant  village  clock  toll- 

10 


THE      PROPHET'S      PRAYER 

ing  the  hour  of  ten.  To  the  east,  Minot's  Light 
glowed  intermittently  through  the  mist.  Against 
the  black  of  sea  and  sky  it  burned  a  halo  for  an  in- 
stant, vanishing  to  make  gloom  all  encompassing. 

Twenty  feet  below,  the  surges  of  the  Atlantic, 
impelled  by  the  rising  gale  and  tide,  dashed  against 
the  rock  with  a  fury  unabated  in  a  conflict  which  had 
endured  for  centuries.  A  stone's  throw  away  a  reef 
of  low  rock  withstood  the  first  impact  of  the  waves. 
Through  the  darkness  it  showed  a  ridge  of  foam. 
The  spindrift  hurled  landward  by  the  wind  was 
salt  to  the  lips,  and  stinging  as  the  lash  of  hail. 

Falling  on  his  knees,  the  old  man  faced  the  sea, 
raised  his  arms  to  heaven,  and  prayed  to  the  God 
who  rides  on  the  wings  of  the  storm.  The  spray 
stung  his  face,  but  he  heeded  it  not.  A  giant 
surge  swept  the  lantern  away,  and  its  faint  light  went 
out  as  it  clattered  along  the  rocks.  The  old  man 
prayed  fervently  that  his  sins  might  be  forgiven. 
There  was  one  sin  which  weighed  heavily  upon  him, 
though  he  named  it  not  in  his  petition. 

The  year  was  1860,  and  on  that  November  day 
the  news  had  come  to  Rocky  Woods  of  Abraham 
Lincoln's  election  to  the  presidency. 

Peter  Burt  belonged  to  no  religious  denomina- 
tion. He  interpreted  the  Scriptures  according  to 
the  "  light  which  was  within  him."  He  believed  he 
had  received  a  revelation  from  God,  and  that  he 
was  gifted  with  the  spirit  of  prophecy.  He  made 
no  effort  to  win  converts  to  his  faith.  On  the  con- 


JOHN  BURT 

trary,  he  cherished  it  close  as  a  personal  heritage. 
Sure  of  secret  communion  and  partnership  with 
God,  he  was  jealous  of  his  intimacy  with  the  Al- 
mighty. On  still,  clear  nights,  from  a  lonely  hiil 
which  served  as  an  altar,  the  giant  patriarch  lifted' 
up  his  voice  as  one  praying  in  the  wilderness.  Dur- 
ing the  closing  weeks  of  the  Presidential  campaign 
his  addresses  to  the  Almighty  were  logical  declara- 
tions and  arguments,  presented  as  if  to  a  reasonable 
but  influential  opponent.  And  now  that  Lincoln 
was  elected,  Peter  Burt  knelt  before  his  God, 
humble  and  submissive  as  a  sinner,  but  esteeming 
himself  worthy  to  be  treated  as  an  equal  in  matters 
of  State  or  nation. 

In  the  tempest  which  lowered  when  the  election 
was  in  doubt,  and  broke  in  fury  when  the  triumph 
of  Lincoln  was  certain,  Peter  Burt  saw  an  augury  of 
the  storm  which  was  soon  to  sweep  the  country. 
An  ardent  Abolitionist,  and  a  rabid  advocate  of 
Unionism,  he  lifted  his  voice  that  November  night 
in  a  frenzy  of  eloquence  which  thrilled  the  child  at 
his  side  and  left  an  impress  years  did  not  efface. 
Amid  the  crash  of  waters,  with  no  gleam  of  light 
save  the  pulsing  glare  of  Minot,  his  gray  hair 
streaming  in  the  wind,  his  dripping  arms  stretched 
over  the  foam,  Peter  Burt  prophesied  the  four  years 
of  desolating  war  then  impending.  He  invoked  the 
curse  of  God  on  the  enemies  of  his  country, 
returned  thanks  for  the  coming  emancipation  of 
the  slaves,  and  exulted  in  the  glorious  victory  t<i  be 
ia 


THE      PROPHET'S      PRAYER 

achieved  by  the  Union  arms.  He  ended  with  a 
tender  plea  for  the  grandson  kneeling  beside  him — 
'who  is  the  heir,"  the  old  man  declared,  "not  of 
my  worldly  possessions,  which  are  nothing  in  Thine 
eyes,  but  of  those  gifts  and  that  power  of  divina- 
tion with  which  Thou  hast  graciously  vouchsafed 
me.  John  Burt  shall  be  the  chosen  one  of  the 
house  of  Burt.  Withhold  not,  O  Lord,  Thy  bless- 
ing from  him !  Amen." 

The  old  man  arose  and  shook  the  water  from  his 
hair.  The  boy  clutched  at  him  for  support  against 
the  gale,  now  blowing  with  cyclonic  force.  The 
prophet  was  gone,  the  New  England  farmer  stood 
in  his  place.  The  resonant  voice  which  challenged 
wind  and  wave  sounded  harsh  as  he  exclaimed : 

"Where's  the  lantern,  John?  See  if  you  can 
find  it.  We'll  break  our  necks  trying  to  get  back 
without  it." 

John  found  the  lantern,  and  after  many  at- 
tempts and  muttered  complaints  the  old  man  lighted 
it.  Laboriously  they  picked  their  way  along  the 
slippery  rocks  until  they  came  to  a  protected  side 
of  the  ledge,  where  the  water  swung  in  an  eddy 
but  faintly  disturbed  by  the  thundering  surf.  Hold- 
ing the  lantern  high  over  his  head,  the  old  man 
walked  cautiously  along  until  he  reached  the  weed- 
strewn  and  surf-lashed  beach.  He  looked  into  the 
face  of  the  boy  who  trudged  beside  him. 

"  You  are  a  bra^e  lad,  John  ;  a  brave,  good  lad. 
It  is  beginning  to  rain.  We  must  hasten  home." 


CHAPTER  TWO 

JESSIE  GARDEN 

*'T   DON'T  care  to  pick  flowers!     I  want  to  stay 

JL     right  where  I  am.     I  hate  those   old   yellow 

flowers  ;   and  besides,  they're  scratchy.     Let 

me  stay  and  watch  for  one  of  those  thingumbobs 

in  the  water.     Please,  Govie  !" 

Jessie  Garden  clung  firmly  to  an  iron  rod  of 
the  old  bridge,  and  spoke  with  the  pleading 
defiance  of  a  spoiled  child  of  twelve.  The  gover- 
ness smiled  sadly  down  upon  the  pouting  lips  and 
rebellious  eyes.  There  was  tender  reproach  in  her 
look. 

The  clasp  of  the  little  hand  on  the  iron  rod 
relaxed,  and  a  smile  chased  the  pout  from  the  pretty 
lips. 

"I'm  awful  sorry;  I  didn't  mean  anything!" 
she  exclaimed  as  she  threw  her  arms  around  her 
companion.  "  You  know  I'm  sorry,  don't  you, 
Govie  ?  But  please  let  me  stay  here  while  you  pick 
flowers.  I'll  be  awful  careful." 

"  Certainly,  my  dear,"  replied  Miss  Maiden  as 
she  smoothed  her  dark  curls,  tossed  in  charming 
confusion  by  an  ocean  breeze  which  tempered  the 
heat  of  the  August  afternoon.  "  Don't  lean  out 
over  the  bridge,  sweetheart,  and  keep  away  from 
the  creek.  I  shall  not  be  gone  long,  and  I'll  bring 
back  a  nice  bouquet  of  flowers  and  grasses  for  the 
dinner  table.  You  will  be  very  careful,  won't  you, 
Jessie?" 

»4 


JESSIE          GARDEN 

"Just  awful  careful,  Govie.  There's  one  of 
those  spidery  things  now!" 

Miss  Maiden  left  Jessie  in  rapt  contemplation 
of  a  hard-shelled  crab  which  had  ventured  so  near 
the  bank  of  the  creek  as  to  render  himself  visible 
to  the  keen  eyes  of  that  very  young  lady.  The 
governess  took  one  anxious  look  as  she  entered 
the  wood ;  saw  Jessie  toss  a  pebble  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  crab,  and  heard  her  shout  for  joy  as  the 
crustacean  moved  clumsily  sideways  into  deeper 
water. 

Save  for  the  fitful  breeze  which  nodded  the 
marsh  grasses  and  fluttered  the  leaves  of  the  chest- 
nut trees,  nature  seemed  asleep  in  the  heat  of  the 
long  summer  afternoon.  A  few  rods  away  the 
beach  lay  like  a  bar  of  tarnished  brass,  lapped  by 
the  languid  surf  of  an  outgoing  tide.  The  sandy 
road  stretched  to  the  east  until  lost  in  a  curve 
around  a  ridge  of  shrub-crowned  rocks.  Its  ruts 
were  softened  in  the  quivering  waves  of  heat  which 
played  above  it.  The  monotonous  tinkle  of  a  cow- 
bell, the  occasional  croak  of  an  invisible  frog,  the 
drone  of  insects,  and  the  murmur  of  the  waves  as 
they  caressed  the  rocks  and  sands  were  the  only 
sounds.  The  deep  blue  of  the  ocean  faded  at  the 
horizon  into  the  turquoise  dome  of  a  cloudless  sky. 
It  was  midsummer  in  New  England. 

The  dark  waters  of  the  creek  mirrored  a  fair 
face,  doubly  youthful  in  its  innocent  beauty.  The 
dark  brown  hair,  the  soft  brown  eyes,  and  the 

15 


JOHN  HURT 

parted  lips  gave  promise  of  coming  charms.  The 
delicately  molded  nose  was  perfect,  and  when  Jessie 
Garden  smiled  there  were  baby  dimples  in  the  sun- 
tanned cheeks.  The  girlish  figure  was  graceful  in 
the  broken  curves  of  spring ;  the  limned  outlines  of 
a  masterpiece,  upon  which  the  artist,  Time,  had  just 
begun  his  work  of  love. 

Jessie  was  spending  her  first  summer  in  the 
country.  For  three  weeks  she  had  been  living  in 
the  Bishop  farm-house.  So  many  things  had  hap- 
pened that  the  memory  of  the  Garden  mansion 
in  Boston  had  become  a  dream.  The  Bishops  were 
distant  relatives  of  General  Marshall  Garden,  the 
banker ;  and  to  them  had  been  consigned  the  wel- 
fare of  his  daughter,  in  special  charge  of  a  trusted 
governess. 

Jessie  peered  over  the  rail  and  watched  the 
waters  in  vain  for  another  of  the  "  thingumbobs." 
She  ran  back  and  forth  and  threw  sticks  and  stones 
into  the  creek  in  a  vain  attempt  to  lure  its  denizens 
to  the  surface.  Then  she  spied  a  hoop-pole  which 
had  fallen  from  a  passing  wagon.  This  slender  rod 
easily  reached  the  water,  and  Jessie  threshed  the 
surface  with  all  possible  vigor.  A  projecting 
branch  from  the  pole  caught  her  cap,  and  it  fell 
into  the  creek,  where  the  tide  swept  it  under  the 
bridge. 

With  a  cry  of  dismay,  Jessie  turned  and  dashed 
across,  almost  falling  beneath  the  feet  of  a  horse. 

"Whoa,  Jim!" 

16 


JESSIE          GARDEN 

Checked  in  a  slow  trot  by  a  pair  of  taut  lines, 
an  old  farm  horse  stopped  so  suddenly  as  to  rattle 
the  contents  of  the  wagon.  The  driver,  a  boy  of 
seventeen,  dropped  the  lines  and  leaped  lightly  to 
the  bridge. 

"Did  he  hit  you,  little  girl?" 

Jessie  Garden  stumbled  and  fell  just  beyond 
the  horse's  hoofs.  Before  the  boy  could  reach  her, 
she  was  on  her  feet  and  peering  over  the  bridge. 

"There  it  is!  There  it  is!"  she  exclaimed, 
dancing  in  excitement  and  dismay.  "  Oh,  what  will 
Govie  say?  Boy,  get  me  my  cap!" 

The  youth,  startled  at  the  imperious  summons, 
followed  her  gaze  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  cap 
as  it  was  carried  along  by  the  tide.  Looking  up 
the  road,  he  placed  his  fingers  between  his  teeth  and 
whistled  shrilly.  A  large  Newfoundland  dog  came 
towards  him,  leaping  in  huge  bounds. 

"  Hey,  Prince,  go  get  it !"  He  pointed  to  the 
cap,  now  whirling  in  an  eddy. 

The  dog  braced  himself  with  his  front  legs, 
and  hesitated  for  a  moment,  whining,  not  in  fear 
but  in  excitement.  Next  moment  the  water 
splashed  in  Jessie's  face  as  Prince  struck  the  sur- 
face. With  lusty  strokes  he  swam  in  the  direction 
of  the  cap.  His  master  vaulted  the  fence  and  fol- 
lowed along  the  creek. 

Prince  soon  reached  the  cap,  and,  holding  it 
well  above  the  water,  turned  for  the  bank.  The 
sides  were  steep  and  slippery,  but  the  boy  took  firm 

17 


JOHN  BURT 

hold  of  the  dog's  collar,  and  after  a  struggle  hauled 
him  to  solid  ground.  Prince  dropped  the  cap,  fill- 
ing the  air  with  spray  as  he  shook  himself,  wagged 
his  tail,  and  lolled  his  tongue  in  canine  self-satisfac- 
tion. A  moment  later  the  arm  of  a  sailor  blouse 
was  round  the  shaggy,  wet  neck,  a  tanned  hand 
caressed  the  heaving  sides,  and  a  sweet  voice  cooed: 

"  You  are  the  best  and  dearest  and  bravest 
old  doggie  in  the  world,  and  I  love  you  1" 

"  Here  is  your  cap,"  said  the  boy,  as  he  held  a 
much  bedraggled  piece  of  millinery  gingerly  at 
arm's  length. 

"Thank  you  boy!"  said  Jessie,  smiling  through 
tears  which  were  welling  in  her  eyes.  With  a  little 
sigh  of  relief,  she  noted  that  the  governess  was  not 
in  sight.  Jessie  patted  the  dog  on  the  head,  and 
with  a  roguish  glance  addressed  her  unknown  com- 
panion. 

"  It  was  the  dog  that  did  it,  not  you,"  she  said 
with  a  laugh  which  showed  that  all  her  sorrows  were 
chased  away. 

"What's  his  name?" 

"  Prince." 

l        "What   is   your   own    name?"    asked    Jessie, 
with  the  direct  frankness  of  twelve  years. 

"  My  name  is  Burt — John  Burt." 

"  Bert  is  a  first  name,"  said  Jessie,  looking  the 
boy  in  the  eyes  with  an  expression  half  of  doubt 
and  half  of  surprise.     "  I  have  a  cousin  named  Bert 
—Bert  Hancock." 
it 


JESSIE          GARDEN 

"  Mine's  spelled  B-u-r-t." 

"  My  name  is  Jessie  Garden,"  said  the  young 
lady  as  she  crawled  through  the  fence  unassisted  by 
her  new  acquaintance.  The  courtesy  expected  by 
a  miss  of  twelve  is  the  same  as  that  extended  by  a 
lad  of  seventeen,  so  neither  suffered  in  the  other's 
estimation. 

"What  were  you  trying  to  do  with  that  pole?" 
asked  John  as  they  reached  the  bridge. 

"  I  was  trying  to  stir  up  those  spidery  things 
down  there  in  the  water,"  replied  Jessie,  again 
grasping  the  pole,  which  had  remained  erect,  fast 
in  the  sticky  bottom  of  the  creek. 

"  Spidery  things?"  laughed  the  boy.  "  Do  you 
mean  crabs?  Do  they  go  like  this ?"  John  placed 
his  hands  together  and  wriggled  his  fingers  in 
accurate  imitation  of  an  active  crab. 

"  Yes,  that's  the  way  they  go  1"  declared 
Jessie.  "  Oh,  how  I  wish  I  could  catch  one  1" 

"That's  easy,"  said  John  Burt  as  he  climbed 
into  the  wagon.  "  Wait  until  I  hitch  this  horse, 
and  I'll  show  you  how.  Want  some  anyhow;  you 
can  watch  me." 

|  John  Burt  speedily  returned  with  some  scraps 
of  meat  and  a  mysterious  implement  which  con- 
sisted of  a  pole  with  a  stout  dip  net  at  the  end  of 
it.  Jessie  regarded  the  preparations  with  keen 
interest.  Prince  found  a  shady  place  beneath  an 
oak  girder,  and  went  sound  asleep.  The  boy  took  a 
piece  of  string  from  his  pocket  and  securely  fast- 

19 


JOHN  BURT 

ened  a  piece  of  tough  raw  beef  to  it ;  then  he  low- 
ered the  meat  into  the  water.  In  his  left  hand  he 
held  the  pole,  with  the  meshes  of  the  dip  net  but  a 
few  inches  above  the  surface.  Jessie  watched  with 
bated  breath  and  wide  opened  eyes. 

"  Can  I  talk?"  she  whispered. 

"  Sure,"  responded  John.  "  Nothing  scares  a 
crab  much.  I've  got  a  bite!  Stand  back!" 

Jessie  had  crowded  so  close  to  the  fisherman 
that  he  had  no  room  to  manipulate  the  net.  She 
jumped  to  one  side,  but  did  not  take  her  eyes  off 
the  water.  Slowly  and  carefully  John  raised  the 
string.  At  last  the  meat  showed  red  in  the  murky 
water  of  the  creek.  As  it  came  to  the  surface  John 
thrust  the  net  [below.  Out  of  the  swirl  of  water 
it  emerged,  laden  with  the  meat  and  a  struggling, 
writhing  crab. 

"Got  him!"  said  John,  as  he  lifted  the  drip- 
ping collection  over  the  side  of  the  bridge. 

Jessie  screamed  with  delight.  Prince  awoke, 
trotted  across  the  bridge,  and  surveyed  the  crab 
with  much  dignity;  then  returned  with  a  look  of 
disgust  that  so  ordinary  an  event  had  created  so 
great  a  furor. 

"  Isn't  he  ugly  !  Look  at  his  legs  !  One,  two, 
three,  four,  five,  six,  seven,  eight,  nine,  ten,  eleven 
— no,  ten — I  counted  one  of  them  twice.  Does  he 
bite?"  Jessie  hovered  over  the  net  and  stretched 
her  fingers  towards  the  floundering  crab.  The  little 
beady  eyes  glittered,  the  claws  clashed  helplessly. 

20 


JESSIE          GARDEN 

"  You  bet  he  can  bite  !  You  get  near  enough 
and  he'll  nip  you  good  and  hard,"  said  John  as  he 
unsnarled  the  crab  from  the  twine  and  meat.  "  Run 
over  to  the  wagon  and  get  the  basket.  I  forgot 
it." 

Delighted  to  be  of  assistance  in  so  famous  an 
undertaking,  Jessie  ran  swiftly  to  the  wagon,  and 
returned  with  a  large  wicker  basket.  John  had  al- 
ready dropped  the  bait  in  the  water,  and  the  crab 
was  crawling  around  the  bridge.  Reaching  down, 
he  deftly  grabbed  the  crab  and  dropped  him  into 
the  basket. 

For  an  instant  Jessie  was  speechless  with 
wonder  and  admiration  at  such  bravery. 

"He  didn't  bite  you?" 

"  Of  course  not.  I  didn't  let  him.  You  must 
grab  them  back  of  the  neck.  Here,  look  out !  I've 
got  another  1" 

There  was  a  swish  of  water  and  a  second  crab 
ended  his  aqueous  career,  joining  his  companion  in 
the  basket. 

"They're  crawling  out!"  exclaimed  Jessie. 
"  One  of  'em's  on  the  edge  !  Stop  him,  quick  1" 

John  shook  the  basket  and  the  crab  fell  to  the 
bottom. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  to  do,"  directed  John.  "  Go 
and  get  a  stick,  and  when  they  try  to  crawl  up,  poke 
'em  back  1" 

Jessie  found  a  short  stick,  and  for  ten  minutes 
"poked. 'em  back."  The  colony  steadily  increased, 


JOHN  BURT 

and  the  joy  of  keeping  them  in  the  basket  began  to 
pall.  Jessie  looked  wistfully  at  her  companion. 

"  Boy,  let  me  catch  and  you  poke,"  she  ven- 
tured in  a  plaintive  note.  "  I  never  caught  a  crab. 
Won't  you  please — John  Burt?" 

"  Why,  certainly  !"  said  John.  "  I'll  show  you 
how." 

Jessie  left  the  squirming  mass  of  crabs  and 
sprang  to  John's  side.  Her  face  was  aglow  with 
the  thrill  of  a  new  experience.  Her  hand  trembled 
as  she  grasped  the  wet,  slippery  pole,  but  determi- 
nation showed  in  every  feature. 

"  Reach  down  as  far  as  you  can,"  John  directed. 
"  That's  right.  Now  hold  the  pole  in  your  other 
hand  like  that.  You're  doing  fine.  When  you  feel 
something  pull  or  jerk,  pull  up — slowly,  though,  or 
you'll  scare  him.  Do  you  feel  anything?" 

"The  line  kind  of  twitches,"  whispered  Jessie. 

"  Raise  it  up  slow.  Be  careful.  There's  one 
on,  sure  !  Now  jam  the  net  under  him !" 

Jessie  made  a  swing  with  the  net,  but  dipped 
too  low.  A  huge  crab  dropped  from  the  meat, 
struck  the  edge  of  the  net,  and  floundered  back  into 
the  water. 

"  I  lost  him !    What  a  shame !    Wasn't  he  big  ?" 

"  Go  on ;  try  again,"  said  John  good  naturedly. 

Jessie  lowered  the  meat  and  waited  patiently 
for  a  minute.  Then  she  slowly  raised  the  line.  With 
much  care  she  dropped  the  net  below  the  meat  and 
raised  it  from  the  water. 


JESSIE          GARDEN 

"  I've  got  one!  I've  got  one!  Take  it  quick, 
or  he'll  get  away  !  There's  two  of  'em — two  of 
'em  I" 

Jessie  clapped  her  hands  and  danced  with 
delight.  John  grinned  in  sympathy  as  he  shook 
two  crabs  from  the  net.  Prince  growled.  John 
looked  up  the  road. 

"  There's  some  one  coming,"  he  said. 

Jessie  turned  and  saw  Miss  Maiden  approach- 
ing. In  an  instant  the  many  transgressions  of 
which  she  was  guilty  passed  through  her  mind.  She 
looked  at  her  muddy  feet,  her  bedraggled  hat,  and 
her  splattered  blouse  and  skirt. 

"  I'll  get  an  awful  scolding,"  she  said,  half  to 
herself  and  half  to  the  boy.  Then  for  the  first 
time  she  scrutinized  John  Burt.  She  noted  that  he 
was  well  dressed ;  that  he  was  not  barefooted,  like 
most  farmer  boys ;  and  that  he  was  handsome  and 
self-possessed. 

"  Do  you  belong  to  the  riffraff?"  asked  Jessie, 
lowering  her  voice  so  that  the  approaching  gover- 
ness should  not  hear  her. 

"The  what?"  asked  John  Burt. 

"  The  riffraff,"  repeated  Jessie. 

"  Never  heard  of  it,"  replied  John  Burt  with  a 
puzzled  smile.  "  What  is  it  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Jessie;  "but  my  papa 
don't  allow  me  to  associate  with  the  riffraff,  and  I 
forgot  until  just  now  to  ask  you  if  you  are  a  riff- 
raff." 


JOHN  BURT 

A  look  of  pain  came  to  the  honest  face  of  the 
boy.  Before  he  could  speak  Jessie  turned  to  meet 
Miss  Maiden. 

"  Why,  Jessie  Garden,  what  have  you  been 
doing?"  With  a  cry  of  dismay  the  governess 
dropped  an  armful  of  flowers  and  surveyed  the 
wreck  of  the  sailor  suit.  "  Look  at  your  shoes, 
Jessie,  and  your  new  cap,  and  your  lovely  dress ! 
What  will  your  auntie  say?  Oh,  Jessie,  how  could 
you  do  such  a  thing  ?" 

Jessie  looked  penitent  indeed  as  she  gazed  at 
the  muddy  shoes  and  the  torn  stocking ;  but  con- 
trition is  a  feeble  flame  in  the  heart  of  a  child. 

"  Never  mind  the  old  clothes,  Govie,"  she  said, 
raising  a  face  radiant  in  smiles  at  the  thought  of 
the  fun  she  had  enjoyed.  "Watch  me  catch  a 
crab  !  I  can  do  it  just  splendid  1" 

"  Jessie,  lay  that  pole  down  and  come  away 
with  me,"  said  Miss  Maiden  sternly.  u  How  dare 
you  play  with  a  strange  boy  1  What  would  your 
father  say?  Come  with  me  at  once!" 

"  He  isn't  riffraff,  Govie !"  said  Jessie,  with 
a  look  at  the  boy  which  gladdened  his  heart 
and  took  away  the  sting  of  her  innocent  words. 
11  He  is  John  Burt,  and  he  and  Prince  saved  my  cap 
when  it  fell  into  the  water.  I  asked  him  how  to 
catch  crabs  and  he  showed  me,  and  I  caught  two  at 
once,  didn't  I,  John  Burt?" 

Thus  appealed  to,  John  Burt  bowed  to  Miss 
Maiden  and  answered  in  the  affirmative.  Miss 


JESSIE          GARDEN 

Maiden  looked  at  him  with  all  the  severity  of  her 
gentle  nature,  though  she  knew  that  he  was  not  to 
blame  for  the  condition  of  her  charge.  She  gath- 
ered up  the  flowers  and  took  Jessie  by  the  hand. 

"Good-bye,  Prince!  Good-bye,  John  Burt!" 
Jessie  waved  her  hand  gaily  at  her  fishing  compan- 
ion as  Miss  Maiden  turned  into  the  path  leading 
through  the  woods. 

"  He  was  real  nice,  and  you're  awful  good, 
Govie,  not  to  scold  him !"  were  the  words  that 
reached  John  Burt  as  he  carried  his  basket  of  crabs 
to  the  wagon. 


CHAPTER     THREE 

JOHN  HURT'S  BOYHOOD 

FOR  two  hundred  years  the  Burt  house  had  with- 
stood the  blasts  of  winter  and  the  withering 
heat  of  summer.  Time  had  worked  upon  the 
rough  exterior  until  it  seemed  like  a  huge  rect- 
angular rock,  weather  worn  and  storm  beaten.  The 
small  plateau  on  which  it  stood  sloped  northward 
to  the  sea.  Rugged  rocks  to  the  west  stood  as  a 
wall,  frowning  at  the  quiet  beauties  of  salt  marsh 
and  cedar  swamp  below.  To  the  south  were 
patches  of  meadow  wrested  from  wood  and  rock 
by  generations  of  toil.  Through  this  fairer  section 
a  brook  wandered  between  banks  festooned  with 
watercress.  Old  settlers  knew  the  locality  by  the 
name  of  Rocky  Woods. 

The  convulsion  of  nature  which  raised  this 
rugged  coast  as  an  eternal  challenge  to  the  Atlantic, 
exhausted  its  strength  in  the  upheaval  of  a  crag 
which  reached  its  height  a  few  hundred  yards  south- 
west of  the  old  farmhouse.  Black  at  the  base  with 
the  gloom  of  fir  and  pine,  its  summit  was  bare 
in  primeval  rocks.  For  generations  the  dismal 
crest  was  called  Burt's  Hill,  and  in  the  time  of  this 
narrative,  Burt's  Pulpit. 

i  At  the  base  of  its  slope,  and  bordering  the 
road,  a  square  of  perhaps  a  hundred  feet  had  been 
hewn  from  the  forest.  Within  this  stone-walled 
area,  blackened  slabs  of  slate  stood  as  sentinels 
above  the  ashes  of  eight  generations  of  the  house 
H 


JOHN       HURT'S       BOYHOOD 

of  Burt.  Some  slabs  had  fallen,  others  leaned — 
weary  of  their  sad  task  in  the  long  flight  of  years. 
Here  and  there,  over  newly-made  mounds,  the  white 
of  a  marble  or  the  mottled  blue  of  a  granite  seemed 
garish  in  comparison  with  flaked  and  crumbled 
slates,  the  crude  letters  on  which  were  lost  or 
blurred — pitifully  eloquent  in  their  voiceless  testi- 
mony of  the  mutability  of  the  works  of  man.  The 
inclosing  woods,  as  if  anxious  to  efface  the  last 
memento  which  linked  the  past  to  the  present, 
steadily  encroached  on  the  sleeping  place  of  these 
pioneers.  The  overhanging  boughs  and  the  creep- 
ing vines  seemed  a  repressed  vegetal  flood,  eager  to 
overleap  the  barrier  which  for  two  centuries  had 
held  it  from  its  ancient  own. 

When  Hezekiah  Burt  died,  Peter  Burt  inher- 
ited the  hold  homestead  in  Rocky  Woods.  He  was 
a  young  giant  with  the  shoulders  of  a  Hercules. 
His  feats  of  strength  are  legends  which  yet  pass 
from  father  to  son  in  this  part  of  New  England.  At 
the  age  of  thirty  he  took  to  wife  the  fairest  maiden 
of  the  surrounding  country,  and  to  them  a  son  was 
born  and  christened  Robert  Burns  Burt.  A  year 
later  the  mother  sickened  and  died.  The  grief  of 
Peter  Burt  was  terrible  as  his  strength.  For  a  year 
he  remained  a  prisoner  in  his  house ;  then  returned 
to  work,  and  for  two  years  labored  with  the  energy 
of  a  demon.  His  second  marriage  followed.  He 
led  to  the  altar  the  daughter  of  a  poor  farmer,  and 
of  this  prosaic  union  seven  children  were  born. 


JOHN  BUR 


T 


After  fifteen  years  of  work  and  sorrow  the 
patient  wife  folded  her  tired  hands,  closed  her 
weary  eyes,  and  sank  into  that  sleep  which  awakens 
not  to  toil.  If  Peter  Burt  loved  his  second  wife,  he 
never  told  her  so.  If  he  loved  her  children,  his  ex- 
pression of  affection  took  a  peculiar  form.  He 
made  no  secret  of  his  favoritism  for  Robert  Burns 
Burt,  the  only  child  of  his  first  wife. 

Robert  was  a  boy  of  whom  any  father  would 
be  proud.  At  twelve  he  was  sent  to  school  in 
Hingham.  At  nineteen  he  entered  Harvard,  grad- 
uating in  four  years  with  honors.  After  two  more 
years  devoted  to  a  law  course,  he  began  practice  in 
Boston,  and  his  success  was  instantaneous. 

His  visits  to  Rocky  Woods  were  events  not  to 
be  forgotten  by  his  half-brothers  and  sisters. 
When  Robert  came  the  father  was  another  being. 
The  harsh  note  left  his  voice,  his  eyes  were  soft 
and  loving,  and  he  spoke  kind  words  to  the  chil- 
dren. The  table  was  heaped  with  all  the  delicacies 
that  Hingham  afforded ;  work  was  suspended  for 
the  day,  and  in  the  evening  Peter  Burt  climbed  to 
the  dusty  attic  and  brought  back  an  old  violin. 
With  the  flickering  glare  of  an  open  fire  lighting 
up  his  strong  face,  he  sang  the  love  songs  of  his 
youth;  and  at  times  a  quaver  came  into  his  voice, 
and  through  the  shadows  tears  glistened  on  his 
cheeks. 

Then  Robert  would  play  and  sing — a  college 
song,  perhaps,  or  a  fragment  from  some  opera. 

»8 


JOHN       HURT'S       BOYHOOD 

Those  were  sweet  but  rare  events  in  the  old  farm- 
house beneath  the  shadow  of  Burt's  Hill. 

For  ten  years  after  the  death  of  his  wife,  Peter 
Burt  conducted  the  farm  of  his  forefathers.  One 
after  another  of  his  sons  and  daughters,  as  they  be- 
came of  age,  left  the  old  home,  never  to  return. 
One  night  after  supper  Peter  Burt  informed  the 
remaining  children  that  he  was  going  to  sea.  He 
had  bought  an  interest  in  a  whaling  vessel,  and 
would  sail  from  New  Bedford  in  a  week.  To  Sarah 
— the  eldest  of  the  children — he  gave  three  hundred 
dollars,  together  with  instructions  concerning  the 
management  of  the  farm.  He  did  not  know  how 
long  he  would  be  gone — it  might  be  a  year  or  it 
might  be  five.  With  some  tenderness  he  kissed  the 
weeping  orphans,  and  tramped  down  the  road  in 
the  direction  of  Hingham, 

Peter  Burt  was  fifty-six  years  old  when  he 
sailed  from  New  Bedford  harbor  as  captain  of  the 
wealing  ship  Segregansett.  Robert  alone,  of  all  his 
children,  stood  on  the  pier  when  the  ship  weighed 
anchor  and  stood  out  to  sea.  With  tears  coursing 
down  his  cheeks,  the  father  bade  the  young  man 
good-bye  and  gave  him  his  blessing. 

Five  years  later  the  Segregansett  dropped 
anchor  at  New  Bedford.  None  of  the  crew  that 
went  out  with  her  returned.  Peter  Burt  sold  the 
cargo,  paid  off  his  men,  disposed  of  his  interest  in 
the  ship,  and  on  the  following  day  walked  into  the 
Burt  farmhouse.  He  was  greeted  affectionately  by 

29 


JOHN  BURT 

his  son  Joseph,  who  for  a  year  had  lived  alone  in 
the  old  house.  A  week  later  the  boy  was  sent  to 
school  in  Boston,  and  Peter  Burt  began  his  solitary 
occupancy  of  the  ancestral  home. 

Shortly  before  Peter  Burt's  return,  Robert  had 
married,  and  the  old  man  was  delighted  when  the 
young  couple  made  a  visit  to  the  old  farm.  The 
following  year  John  Burt  was  born,  and  Peter  Burt 
journeyed  to  Boston  to  witness  the  christening. 

Two  yfars  later  Robert  Burns  Burt  and  his 
wife  were  instantly  killed  in  a  railroad  accident. 
The  train  crashed  through  a  bridge.  It  was  winter, 
and  bitterly  cold.  Of  the  fifteen  passengers  in  the 
car  occupied  by  Robert  Burt,  but  one  escaped.  A 
child,  two  years  old,  was  found  warmly  wrapped  in 
its  traveling  blanket,  uninjured,  on  a  cake  of  ice,  a 
few  minutes  after  the  car  plunged  beneath  the  water. 
It  was  John  Burt. 

In  the  opinion  of  his  neighbors,  Peter  Burt 
was  crazy  from  the  hour  the  news  came  to  him. 
Strange  stones  were  whispered  concerning  Captain 
Burt,  as  he  was  then  called.  Belated  travelers 
along  the  lonely  road  saw  lights  burning  through 
all  hours  of  the  night.  They  heard  the  old  man 
talking  or  praying  in  a  loud  voice. 

On  two  occasions  Dr.  Randall,  returning  from 
nocturnal  calls,  drove  past  the  Burt  house  long 
after  midnight.  Once  he  saw  Captain  Burt  walk- 
ing slowly  up  and  down  in  front  of  his  house.  The 
night  was  intensely  cold,  but  the  old  man  was  bare- 


JOHN       BURT'S       BOYHOOD 

headed,  his  hair  shining  like  snow  in  the  moonlight. 
His  hands  were  raised.  He  was  beseeching  pardon 
for  some  great  sin.  Dr.  Randall  spoke  to  him,  but 
in  a  voice  of  thunder  Captain  Burt  ordered  him  to 
drive  on.  On  the  second  occasion,  the  doctor 
heard  the  voice  of  the  recluse  from  the  top  of  the 
great  rock,  and  through  the  trees  caught  a  glimpse 
of  his  giant  figure  dim  against  a  starlit  sky. 

A  sailor  who  came  from  New  Bedford  to  Hing- 
ham  told  grim  stories  of  Captain  Burt.  From  the 
tales  of  this  drunken  manner,  the  impression  grew 
that  Captain  Burt  was  the  most  merciless  man  that 
ever  trod  a  deck.  The  stranger  insinuated  that 
there  was  one  story  of  crime  which  would  astound 
all  hearers ;  but  though  garrulous  when  in  his  cups, 
he  seemed  held  in  a  spell  of  fear,  and  could  not  be 
induced  to  reveal  it. 

Upon  the  death  of  Robert,  Peter  Burt  went  to 
Boston  and  buried  his  dead.  With  tearless  eyes  he 
saw  the  pride  of  his  old  age  lowered  into  the  grave. 
Robert  Burns  Burt  was  a  careful  lawyer,  and  his 
will  covered  every  contingency.  It  appointed  his 
father  executor  of  his  small  estate,  and  intrusted 
him  with  the  care  of  his  son.  Peter  Burt  placed 
the  boy  in  the  keeping  of  a  competent  nurse,  and 
returned  to  his  farm. 

Save  for  the  occasional  smoke  from  the  chim- 
ney, there  was  no  sign  that  Peter  Burt  existed 
throughout  the  three  months  that  followed.  His  son 
Joseph  called  at  the  house,  but  was  wot  admitted. 

3* 


JOHN  BURT 

At  the  end  of  this  period  the  old  man  emerged 
and  was  seen  in  Hingham.  For  the  first  time  in 
years  he  spoke  to  his  neighbors,  who  noticed  that 
his  hair  was  as  driven  snow,  and  that  his  face  shone 
with  a  strange  light.  In  the  calm  manner  of  one 
controlled  by  an  unalterable  conviction,  he  stated 
that  he  had  made  his  peace  with  God,  and  was  in- 
spired by  Him.  He  had  received  the  gift  of  pro- 
phecy and  of  understanding. 

His  language  was  figurative,  and  he  talked  in 
parables ;  but  his  predictions  were  plainly  stated, 
and,  to  the  wonderment  of  those  who  heard  them, 
they  were  invariably  accurate.  He  foretold  the 
weather  for  coming  seasons,  the  condition  of  the 
crops,  the  death  of  famous  characters,  the  result  of 
elections,  and  described  in  advance  the  successive 
political  moves  which  were  then  leading  up  to  the 
conflict  between  North  and  South. 

When  John  Burt  was  seven  years  old,  his 
grandfather  brought  him  to  the  old  farmhouse. 
With  the  boy  came  his  nurse  and  her  husband, 
William  Jasper,  the  latter  charged  with  the  duties 
of  hired  man.  Thus  John  Burt  began  his  life  on 
the  farm. 

Those  old  folks  who  remembered  Peter  Burt 
in  his  childhood  saw  in  John  his  living  image ;  the 
boy's  features  being  softened,  though  not  weak- 
ened, by  the  gentle  beauty  of  his  mother  and 
paternal  grandmother.  The  child  had  no  fear  of 
the  old  man,  who  for  a  generation  had  inspired 

1* 


JOHN       BURT'S       BOYHOOD 

terror  or  awe  in  all  about  him.  Far  from  feeling 
aversion,  he  was  fond  of  the  aged  recluse  and 
fanatic.  It  was  strange  and  almost  uncanny  to 
witness  this  ill-assorted  companionship.  The 
neighbors  learned,  however,  from  William  Jasper 
that  Peter  Burt  became  perfectly  rational  in  his  talk 
with  the  child. 

He  permitted  and  encouraged  John  to  become 
acquainted  with  the  few  boys  of  his  age  in  the 
neighborhood,  though  he  sternly  denied  them 
entrance  to  his  house. 

With  infinite  patience  Peter  Burt  explained  to 
the  boy  such  natural  phenomena  as  his  young  mind 
was  able  to  comprehend.  The  sprouting  of  grain; 
the  slow  unfolding  of  a  plant;  the  growth  and 
bursting  of  a  bud ;  the  creeping  of  a  vine ;  the  flow- 
ing of  a  brook  ;  the  falling  of  the  rain  ;  the  changing 
of  the  seasons — these  and  hundreds  of  other  things 
which  puzzle  a  boy  were  made  clear  by  Peter  Burt. 
John  learned  the  names  of  grasses,  of  flowers, 
shrubs,  trees,  vines,  and  weeds ;  of  birds,  insects, 
and  the  inhabitants  of  wood  and  field.  On  his 
eighth  birthday  he  began  the  study  of  the  alphabet. 
At  that  time  he  knew  more  of  the  physical  world 
in  which  he  lived  than  do  many  professors  of  learn- 
ing. 

When  John  had  mastered  his  letters  and 
primer  he  was  sent  to  school  in  Hingham,  taking 
the  regular  course  for  five  years.  Then  a  private 
tutor  came  from  Boston.  Five  days  in  the  week 


JOHN  BURT 

the  boy  studied  under  this  young  man's  direction, 
and  made  rapid  progress.  With  his  stern  old  face 
lighted  with  joy  and  pride,  Peter  Burt  would  listen 
to  the  recitations. 


CHAPTER  FOUR 

JAMES  BLAKE 

JOHN  BURT  was  fourteen  years  old  when  he 
first  met  James  Blake.  The  elder  Blake  had 
purchased  the  old  Leonard  farm,  and  so  had 
become  the  nearest  neighbor  of  Peter  Burt.  There 
were  several  children  in  the  Blake  family,  but  this 
narrative  has  concern  only  with  James,  the  eldest, 
a  boy  of  John  Burt's  age. 

The  two  farms  were  separated  by  a  creek, 
which,  at  a  place  called  the  Willows,  widened  to  a 
pool,  famed  as  a  fishing  and  swimming  place.  One 
June  morning  John  was  seated  on  a  log  spanning 
the  narrow  neck  of  this  reach  of  water.  He  had 
landed  a  bass,  when  the  cracking  of  twigs  and  the 
swaying  of  the  underbrush  on  the  farther  side  of 
the  creek  attracted  his  attention. 

A  moment  later  a  boy  emerged  from  the 
thicket.  He  surveyed  John  with  an  expression 
more  of  contempt  than  of  surprise.  The  new 
comer  was  a  tall,  well-formed  lad,  straight  as  an 
arrow,  quick  and  graceful  in  his  movements.  He 
also  carried  a  rod,  which  he  rested  against  the  log ; 
and  for  a  few  seconds  he  calmly  gazed  at  John 
Burt. 

"Hello!" 

"  Hello  I"  answered  John  Burt. 

"  Fishin'  ?" 

"  No  ;  swimming,"  replied  John. 

"Think  you're  smart,  don't  ye?"  responded 

35 


JOHN  BURT 

the  strange  boy  as  he  baited  his  hook.  "  Crazy 
Hurt's  boy,  ain't  ye?  No  objection  to  my  fishin', 
have  you?" 

There  was  a  taunting  sarcasm  in  his  voice,  and 
defiance  in  his  air.  Without  waiting  for  reply  he 
cast  his  line  into  the  water. 

"You  can  fish  as  long  as  you  please  on  your 
own  side  of  the  creek,"  said  John  sullenly.  As  he 
spoke  a  two-pound  bass  struck  viciously,  and  for 
the  next  two  minutes  he  was  busy.  With  per- 
fect skill  he  wore  the  fish  down  and  landed  him. 
Jim  Blake  watched  him,  but  for  half  an  hour  no 
word  was  spoken.  John  caught  four  bass  during 
that  time,  while  Jim  hooked  only  eel  grass.  Then 
he  cast  his  line  across  the  pool,  dropping  it  a  few 
feet  from  John's  line. 

John  Burt's  face  flushed  angrily. 

"  Keep  on  your  own  side!  "  he  commanded. 

"  I'll  fish  where  I  darn  please !  This  isn't  your 
creek!  "  retorted  Jim  Blake  with  a  defiant  grin.  "If 
it  is,  what  are  ye  going  to  do  about  it?" 

As  he  spoke  John  brought  his  hook  near  the 
surface,  and  by  a  sudden  twist  "  snagged "  Jim 
Blake's  line.  With  a  jerk  he  whipped  the  rod  from 
his  opponent's  hand.  Young  Blake  was  furious. 
John  calmly  towed  the  rod  across  the  pool,  un- 
snarled the  lines,  and  threw  the  rod  on  the  bank. 

Obeying  a  boy's  first  instinct,  Jim  looked  for 
a  stone,  but  found  none.  Then  he  jumped  for  the 
log.  Dropping  his  rod,  John  Burt  also  sprang  for- 
3* 


JAMES  BLAKE 

ward,  and  they  met  in  the  centre  of  the  bridge.  Jim 
aimed  a  blow  at  John's  head,  which  was  parried. 
John  swung  to  the  chin,  and  the  next  instant  Jim 
clenched  and  both  fell  eight  feet  into  the  water. 

The  pool  was  deep,  and  it  seemed  to  Jim  as  if 
they  never  would  come  to  the  surface.  When  he 
did,  and  had  gasped  for  breath,  a  pair  of  strong 
hands  gripped  his  neck  and  he  went  down  again. 
The  water  sang  in  his  ears,  the  world  grew  black, 
and  a  roar  as  of  a  hundred  cataracts  thundered 
around  him.  Then  it  suddenly  became  light.  The 
cool  and  splendid  air  filled  his  nostrils,  and  a  voice 
sounded  in  his  ears: 

"Say  'enough,'  or  down  you  go  again!" 

"E-nough!  E-e-e-nough!  I'll  quit "  spluttered 
Jim  Blake,  throwing  his  arms  about  wildly. 

With  one  hand  firmly  gripping  Jim  Blake's  col- 
lar John  Burt  swam  ashore  with  the  other.  '  It  was 
ten  minutes  before  Blake  recovered  his  breath. 
With  it  he  regained  his  courage.  John  had  re- 
sumed fishing. 

"  You  had  the  best  of  me  in  the  water,  and  I 
cried  quits,"  he  said,  springing  to  his  feet,  "  but  I 
can  lick  you  on  land.  Come  on ;  I  dare  you  !  Take 
a  dare — steal  a  sheep!  There's  a  chip — knock  it 
off!" 

Jim  Blake  placed  a  twig  on  his  shoulder  and 
threw  himself  on  guard. 

"  No,  I  won't  fight  you  to-day,"  said  John  Burt 
calmly.  "  You're  in  no  shape  to  fight.  Your  name's 

37 


JOHN  BURT 

Blake,  isn't  it?  Well,  I'll  fight  you  on  either  side 
of  the  creek  to-morrow." 

"I'll  be  here  at  nine  to-morrow!  " 

"  All  right ;  we'll  have  it  out ;  "  and  John  went 
on  fishing. 

Jim  gathered  up  his  rod,  recrossed  the  log,  and 
disappeared  in  the  brush. 

John  Burt  was  not  quite  as  heavy  as  Jim  Blake, 
and  was  six  months  younger.  He  had  not  been  in 
Hingham  school  a  week  when  he  was  the  acknowl- 
edged commander-in-chief  of  the  two  score  or  more 
boys  of  about  his  own  age.  The  result  was  attained 
by  physical  force,  and  by  the  natural  law  decreeing 
that  some  shall  lead  and  others  follow.  Peter  Burt 
had  no  religious  scruples  against  fighting,  and 
quoted  the  Bible  to  uphold  his  views.  He  taught 
John  many  tricks  of  boxing  and  wrestling,  and  was 
proud  of  the  boy's  strength  and  skill. 

The  two  boys  met  the  following  morning,  and 
wasted  little  time  in  preliminaries. 

"  Are  you  ready  ?"  asked  Jim. 

"Yes." 

And  the  next  moment  they  went  at  it. 

Jim  fought  with  fury  and  much  skill,  but  was 
no  match  for  the  clear  headed,  alert,  and  wiry  lad 
who  confronted  him.  It  was  a  "  stand  up  "  battle, 
no  blows  being  struck  when  either  was  down.  Had 
a  referee  been  present  he  would  have  stopped  the 
fight  at  the  end  of  the  first  minute  and  awarded 
it  to  John.  As  it  was,  fifteen  minutes  claused  he- 


JAMES  BLAKE 

fore  Jim  Blake  went  down  and  out  from  a  cleanly 
delivered  blow  on  the  point  of  the  chin.  One  eye 
was  closed,  his  nose  was  bleeding,  and  his  breath 
completely  exhausted. 

Together  they  staggered  down  the  bank  to  the 
creek,  washed  the  blood  from  their  faces,  and 
bathed  their  swelling  bruises. 

"  I  thought  you  was  a  country  Jake,  and 
couldn't  fight,"  half  sobbed  Jim  Blake,  pulling  at  a 
sprained  thumb.  "  I  was  never  licked  before." 
There  was  a  gleam  of  pride  through  the  tear  in  his 
uninjured  eye. 

"  I  was  born  in  Boston,  but  I  guess  I  am  a 
country  Jake,"  conceded  John.  "  Say,  I  like  you 
—shake!" 

Jim  extended  a  willing  arm,  and  they  shook 
hands  with  the  gravity  of  trained  pugilists. 

A  week  later  John  met  Jim  and  was  told  of  a 
flogging  he  had  received  from  his  father,  who  was 
notorious  as  the  village  drunkard. 

Thereupon  developed  in  John  Burt  and  James 
Blake  that  strong  friendship  so  frequent  between 
boys  of  contrasting  natures.  They  seemed  to  have 
only  two  traits  in  common — both  were  frank  and 
both  generous.  By  nature  and  by  reason  of  his 
grandfather's  training,  John  was  analytical,  and 
arrived  at  his  conclusions  logically.  Jim  Blake 
jumped  at  deductions,  and  was  generally  wrong. 
He  acted  first  and  thought  afterwards.  John  was 
methodical ;  Jim  was  careless. 

99 


JOHN  BURT 

James  Blake  was  neither  stupid  nor  dull.  He 
was  bright  as  he  was  handsome,  and  a  better 
favored  lad  never  gladdened  a  mother's  heart,  but 
he  lacked  that  indefinable  trait  which  is  variously 
termed  judgment,  tact,  or  intuition.  John  Burt 
combined  all  of  these  gifts,  but  loved  the  adventur- 
ous spirit  of  his  companion. 

When  Jim  Blake  was  seventeen  years  old,  he 
decided  to  run  away  from  home.  The  two  boys 
talked  it  over  many  times.  To  the  scanty  hoard  in 
Jim's  possession  John  Burt  added  thirty-five  dol- 
lars— all  the  money  he  had  saved  from  sums  given 
him  at  various  times  by  Peter  Burt.  So,  with  forty 
odd  dollars  in  his  pocket,  and  with  tears  in  his 
handsome  eyes,  Jim  Blake  shook  hands  with  John 
Burt  and  went  out  into  the  world  to  seek  his  for- 
tune. 

Little  did  these  two  boys  think,  as  they  parted 
that  October  afternoon,  that  their  acts  and  passions 
and  lives  would  one  day  be  woven  by  fate  into  a 
web  of  marvelous  workmanship. 


CHAPTER  FIVE 

THE  RUNAWAY 


years  elapsed  before  Jessie  Garden  re- 
turned  to  the  Bishop  farm.     John  Burt  was 
now  twenty  years  old,  and  had  successfully 
passed    the    examination   which    admitted    him    to 
Harvard.      General    Garden  came  with  Jessie,  de- 
lighted with  the  prospect  of  a  week's  rest  in  the  old 
house.     Miss  Jessie,  no  longer  a  child,  but  a  young 
lady  with  the  impressive  dignity  of  fifteen  summers, 
was  to  spend  the  season  with  the  Bishops. 

General  Garden  was  an  enthusiastic  horseman. 
Jessie  was  still  unpacking  her  trunks  when  her 
father  sent  word  that  the  carriage  was  ready,  and 
that  she  was  to  drive  with  him.  A  few  minutes 
later  they  were  speeding  down  the  old  beach  road. 
The  spirited  bays  had  not  been  exercised  for 
several  days,  and  for  a  time  the  general  found  it 
difficult  to  control  them.  They  drove  for  miles 
along  the  winding,  shaded  roads.  The  breeze 
came  cool  and  salt  from  the  ocean,  and  the  air  was 
fragrant  with  the  breath  of  summer. 
,  "  Here  is  where  the  crazy  man  lives,"  said 
Jessie,  as  they  passed  the  old  grave-yard,  "and  there 
is  the  rock  from  which  he  prays  at  night.  When  it 
is  still  we  can  hear  him  at  our  house." 

A  bit  of  the  harness  had  become  unbuckled. 
Handing  the  reins  to  Jessie,  General  Garden 
stepped  to  the  ground  to  adjust  it.  The  twelve 
mile  drive  had  "  taken  the  edge  "  off  the  horses,  as 

4» 


JOHN  BURT 

he  expressed  it,  and  he  had  them  under  perfect 
control. 

His  feet  had  hardly  touched  the  ground  when 
a  prowling  hunter,  a  few  rods  away,  discharged  a 
gun.  The  report  was  terrifying,  and  the  affrighted 
horses  leaped  ahead.  Jessie  was  thrown  violently 
backward,  the  lines  slipping  from  her  hands.  Gen- 
eral Garden  sprang  for  the  horses'  heads — an  instant 
too  late.  He  caught  one  glimpse  of  his  daughter's 
white  face  as  she  swept  past  him.  The  agony 
of  years  was  compressed  into  the  succeeding 
moments. 

The  frenzied  team  dashed  down  the  steep 
grade  at  appalling  speed.  At  the  base  of  the  hill, 
and  almost  in  front  of  the  Burt  farmhouse,  was  a 
sharp  curve.  Then  the  road  skirted  the  cliffs  for 
a  quarter  of  a  mile.  Beyond  lay  a  crooked  hill, 
lined  with  ragged  rocks — the  most  dangerous  slope 
for  miles  around." 

The  carriage  swayed  as  the  horses  thundered 
madly  forward.  Paralyzed  by  a  fear  which  diove 
the  blood  from  his  cheeks,  the  brave  old  soldier^ 
who  had  never  faltered  on  a  score  of  battle-fields, 
stood  helpless  and  trembling. 

Through  the  cloud  of  dust  he  saw  the  team 
as  it  passed  the  old  house.  A  few  rods  beyond,  a 
man  lightly  vaulted  a  fence  and  darted  towards  the 
road.  General  Garden's  eyes  were  blurred,  but  he 
saw  a  flash  of  blue  and  white,  as  if  something  had 
been  hurled  in  front  of  the  maddened  team-  It 


THE  RUNAWAY 

clung  to  the  head  of  the  off  horse,  and  was  tossed 
back  and  forth  by  the  frantic  animal.  For  an 
instant  the  figure  seemed  beneath  the  hammering 
hoofs.  Could  any  human  being  hold  fast  in  such  a 
position? 

At  the  turn  in  the  road  the  general  distinctly 
saw  a  man  clinging  to  the  horses'  bits,  bruised  by 
the  swaying  pole — a  pigmy  who  dared  check  the 
flight  of  giants.  They  swerved  sharply  at  the 
curve.  The  off  horse  stumbled,  lurched  sideways, 
and  fell.  There  was  a  crash ;  the  sickening  sound 
of  splintered  wood  and  clanking  steel;  then  a 
silence,  as  the  dust  lifted  and  revealed  the  jagged 
outlines  of  a  mass  of  wreckage. 

As  General  Garden  neared  the  fateful  spot,  he 
saw  an  old  man  run  from  the  Burt  yard  and  plunge 
into  the  wreck.  A  moment  later  he  saw  something 
in  the  rescuer's  hands.  A  crumpled  blue  hat  above 
dark  curls  showed  plain  in  contrast  to  the  white 
hair  of  the  aged  giant,  who  handled  the  little  figure 
as  if  it  were  a  feather,  laid  it  gently  by  the  side 
of  the  road,  and  again  darted  into  the  twisted 
mass. 

General  Garden  breathed  a  silent  prayer.  He 
was  a  few  rods  away  when  Jessie  moved  slightly, 
lifted  her  head,  and  sprang  to  her  feet.  She  stood 
for  a  moment,  dazed  and  wavering ;  then  her  eyes 
rested  on  her  father. 

"I'm  not  hurt,  papa!"  she  exclaimed  bravely. 
"I  am  not  hurt  a  bit.  Oh,  what  has  happened?" 

41 


JOHN  BURT 

"  Thank  God  !  Thank  God  !"  He  caught 
Jessie  in  his  arms,  gazed  fondly  into  her  eyes,  and 
tenderly  embraced  her. 

"  Come  and  help  me,  sir !  Is  he  dead  ?  Oh,  is 
he  dead  ?"  The  loud,  harsh  command  of  the  old 
man  ended  in  a  moan,  pitiful  in  its  anxious  misery. 

General  Garden  turned  to  the  aid  of  Peter 
Burt.  Tangled  in  the  harness,  a  horse  was  plung- 
ing and  struggling  in  an  attempt  to  regain  his  feet, 
The  other  horse  was  dead,  and  beneath  his  shoulder 
was  pinioned  the  leg  of  a  young  man.  Blood  was 
trickling  down  his  face,  and  he  lay  in  the  dust  of 
the  road,  limp  and  death-like.  His  right  hand  still 
grasped  the  bit ;  his  head  was  near  the  hoofs  of  the 
frantic  animal. 

"  Hold  that  horse's  head  down  1"  ordered  the 
old  man.  General  Garden  threw  his  weight  on  the 
beast's  neck.  Jessie  was  hovering  near,  wringing 
her  hands  in  pity  and  excitement.  The  old  man 
looked  towards  the  house  and  shouted  Jasper's 
name,  but  the  hired  man  was  not  in  sight.  Then 
his  eyes  fell  on  Jessie. 

"When  I  lift  that  horse  will  you  drag  ray 
boy's  leg  from  under?" 

"Yes,  sir;  oh,  hurry  sir!" 

Crouching  down,  Peter  Burt  threw  the  head  of 
the  dead  animal  across  his  shoulder.  He  grasped 
the  trace  with  one  hand  and  the  foreleg  with  the 
other.  In  his  prime  he  had  raised  twelve  hundred 
pounds,  dead  weight.  The  muscles  of  his  neck 

44 


THE          RUNAWAY 

stood  out  like  whipcords.  With  a  heave  of  his 
massive  shoulders  he  raised  the  forward  part  of  the 
horse  clear  from  the  ground,  and  Jessie  quickly 
released  the  pinioned  limb  of  the  motionless  young 
man. 

The  old  man  gathered  the  body  in  his  arms, 
and  carried  it  to  a  grass  plot  by  the  side  of  the 
road.  He  rested  his  gray  head  for  a  moment  on 
the  young  man's  chest,  and  heard  the  faint  flutter 
of  the  heart.  In  accents  which  thrilled  Jessie 
Garden  he  exclaimed : 

"  He  lives !  He  lives !  Praise  God,  my  boy 
is  not  dead!  " 

At  that  moment  Jasper  appeared  and  was  des- 
patched for  Dr.  Randall.  General  Garden  cut  the 
traces,  and  the  uninjured  horse  regained  his  feet. 
Mrs.  Jasper  brought  a  basin  of  water,  and  when 
General  Garden  joined  the  silent  group  Jessie  was 
washing  the  dust  and  blood  from  the  white  face 
and  smoothing  back  the  curling  locks. 

"  Why,  it's  John  Burt !  It's  John  Burt,  papa!" 
she  exclaimed,  tears  starting  to  her  beautiful  eyes. 
"  Will  he  die,  Mr.  Burt  ?  Will  he  die  ?  Oh,  papa, 
is  there  nothing  we  can  do?" 

"  He  will  not  die,  my  child,"  said  the  old  man 
in  a  clear,  calm  voice.  "  It  is  written  that  he  shall 
live  these  many  years." 

As  he  spoke  John  Burt  moaned  slightly,  as  one 
troubled  in  his  sleep,  and  his  eyelids  fluttered.  He 
opened  his  eyes  and  gazed  at  Jessie  Garden.  He 

45 


JOHN  BURT 

passed  his  hand  over  his  forehead,  sighed  gently, 
and  closed  his  eyes  as  in  slumber.  They  carried 
him  to  the  old  farmhouse. 

Just  as  Dr.  Randall  arrived,  John  again  re- 
gained consciousness  and  begged  a  glass  of  water. 
Jessie  and  her  father  waited  anxiously  in  the  sitting- 
room  for  the  physician's  verdict.  The  old  man 
appeared  first,  and  though  he  spoke  not,  his  radiant 
face  told  the  story. 

"  He  is  badly  cut  and  bruised  in  several  places, 
but  no  bones  are  broken,"  said  Dr.  Randall.  Jes- 
sie clapped  her  hands  for  joy.  "  He  was  stunned 
by  the  fall  and  shock,  but  he  has  youth,  health  and 
a  magnificent  physique.  He  will  be  up  and  about 
in  a  week." 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Burt?"  asked  General  Garden. 
A  search  was  made  for  the  strange  old  man,  but  he 
could  not  be  found.  Had  they  gone  to  the  great 
rock,  they  would  have  found  the  patriarch  in  thank- 
ful communion  with  his  Maker. 

They  waited  an  hour  or  more,  and  then  the 
general  said  to  Dr.  Randall : 

"  When  the  young  man  has  sufficiently  recov- 
ered, please  give  him  the  thanks  of  General  Garden 
and  his  daughter  for  his  heroic  conduct,  and  say  to 
him  that  we  shall  call  and  express  our  gratitude  at 
the  earliest  possible  moment." 

Jasper  was  ready  with  the  Burt  family  carriage; 
and,  leaving  a  kindly  message  for  the  grandsire, 
they  returned  to  the  Bishop  house.  Jessie  found 


THE          RUNAWAY 

that  she  had  a  few  bruises,  but  she  laughed  at  her 
aches,  and  talked  only  of  the  heroism  of  brave 
John  Burt.  The  next  day  she  sent  him  a  beautiful 
bunch  of  roses,  and  another  each  succeeding  day 
until  word  came  from  Dr.  Randall  that  the  young 
man  was  able  to  sit  up  and  might  receive  visitors. 
They  drove  to  the  farmhouse  and  were  ushered  into 
the  library — John's  study-room  for  seven  years. 

He  was  propped  up  in  an  easy  chair,  with  the 
old  man  beside  him.  As  the  general  and  Jessie 
entered,  John  attempted  to  rise,  but  Peter  Burt  re- 
strained him. 

"  That's  right,  Mr.  Burt,"  said  General  Garden, 
as  he  advanced  and  grasped  John's  hand.  "  These 
young  men  do  not  like  to  obey  doctor's  orders,  but 
they  must  do  so.  My  boy,  God  bless  you !  I  do 
not  know  how  to  thank  you.  Jessie,  have  you  noth- 
ing to  say  to  the  young  man  who  saved  your  life?  " 

"I  never  thought,"  said  Jessie,  placing  her 
hands  in  his,  "  that  the  boy  who  taught  me  how 
to  catch  crabs  would  one  day  save  my  life.  But  you 
know  I  always  told  Miss  Maiden  that  you  weren't 
riffraff,  and  you  see  I  was  right !  " 

John  looked  handsome  as  he  lay  back  in  the 
great  arm-chair.  The  slight  pallor  served  to  accent- 
uate those  wonderful  eyes — calm,  reflective,  and  at 
times  dreamy  in  mazes  of  thought  and  introspection. 

"  I'm  glad  I  had  a  chance  to  be  of  service  to 
one  I  had  met  before,"  he  said,  as  Jessie  took  a 
seat  beside  him ;  "  though  I  confess  I  should  not 

47 


JOHN  BURT 

recognize  you  as  the  little  girl  who  visited  here 
several  years  ago.  You  are  a  young  lady  now,  and 
I  should  hardly  dare  address  you  as  Jessie,  and  that's 
the  only  name  I  knew  you  by  in  those  days." 

"  I  am  not  yet  sixteen,  and  you  can  call  me  Jes- 
sie until  I  tell  you  not  to.  Can't  he,  papa?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  General  Garden.  "  She 
is  a  spoiled  child,  Mr.  Burt,"  turning  to  the  old 
gentleman,  "  and  I  have  ceased  making  rules,  lest 
she  should  break  them." 

"The  Book  says  that  children  should  obey 
their  parents,"  said  Peter  Burt,  regarding  Jessie 
Garden  with  a  searching  glance.  "  She  looks  like 
an  obedient  daughter.  I  trust  that  she  may  be  the 
joy  and  support  of  your  declining  years,  General 
Garden." 

He  rose  abruptly  and  left  the  room,  and  did 
not  return  while  the  visitors  remained.  Nor  did 
there  seem  anything  rude  in  this  action.  In  most 
men  it  would  have  appeared  as  studied  incivility; 
but  Peter  Burt  was  not  an  ordinary  man. 

During  the  hour  which  followed,  Jessie  and 
John  talked  of  a  score  of  topics,  John  deftly  turn- 
ing the  conversation  from  the  runaway  accident. 
When  he  said  that  he  was  about  to  enter  Harvard, 
General  Garden  was  much  interested.  He  himself 
was  a  graduate  of  the  famous  class  of  '51,  and  re- 
cited the  glories  of  the  fair  old  college  until  Jessie 
interrupted  him,  and  declared  there  were  more  im- 
portant things  to  discuss. 


THE          RUNAWAY 

As  John  Burt  looked  into  the  face  of  the  girl 
beside  him,  it  seemed  impossible  to  realize  that  this 
was  the  prattling  child  he  first  met  in  charge  of  her 
governess. 

How  dainty,  yet  how  healthy,  Jessie  looked ! 
The  July  sun  had  begun  its  etching  of  tan.  The 
slender  neck,  where  the  brown  tresses  protected  it, 
was  dazzling,  shading  away  to  cheek  and  brow  in 
blendings  of  cream,  pink  and  tan,  which  defied 
touch  of  brush  or  skill  of  words.  The  arched  eye- 
brows and  the  dark  silken  lashes  framed  eyes  which 
glowed  with  the  smouldering  fires  of  dawning  wom- 
anhood. The  mouth  was  not  too  small,  and  the 
lips  were  ruddy  as  ripe  cherries. 

And  this  was  the  being  he  had  saved  from  muti- 
lation against  the  cruel  rocks !  As  he  looked  at 
her,  heard  the  rippling  music  of  her  voice,  and  felt 
the  subtle  inspiration  of  her  presence,  the  thought 
came  that  there  was  something  selfish  in  his  joy  and 
pride. 

What  was  it?     Is  love  selfish? 


CHAPTER     SIX 

SUMMER       DAYS 

JOHN    BURT  sprang  into    his    saddle   with  an 
ease  that  showed  complete  recovery  from  the 
runaway  accident,  and  cantered  to  Jessie  Car- 
den's  side.     They  waved  their  hands  gaily  to  Mrs. 
Bishop,  and  galloped  away  under  the  arching  maples 
that  formed  an  avenue  before  the  old  mansion.     It 
was  John's  fourth  visit  since  Jessie's  arrival,  and  his 
suggestion  of  a  ride  to  Hull  had    been  smilingly 
accepted. 

"  Which  way  shall  we  go?  "  asked  John,  as  they 
neared  a  fork  of  the  road. 

"  Take  your  choice ;  you  are  guide,  John,"  re- 
plied Jessie,  reining  in  her  bay.  "  We  have  the  day 
before  us;  let's  take  a  long  ride.  You're  host — 
you  make  the  plans." 

"  Let's  take  Jerusalem  road  to  Nantasket,  and 
follow  the  beach  to  Point  Allerton,"  suggested  John. 

"  Yes,  but  we  can't  get  anything  to  eat  there  I  " 

"  I  know ;  we'll  have  dinner  in  Hull.     We  can 
get  back  to  Nantasket  in  time  for  the  concert.   After 
that,  supper,  and  home  by  moonlight.      Is  it  too 
I  ambitious?" 

"  I  think  it's  jolly  I     Come  on,  let's  gallop  !  " 

A  chaperon  might  have  vetoed  such  an  excur- 
sion, but  the  Bishops  had  known  John  since  he  was 
a  child,  and  counted  him  more  son  than  neighbor. 
General  Garden's  scruples  on  the  question  of  ances» 
try  had  been  speedily  satisfied  by  his  sister. 

CO 


SUMMER  DAYS 

"  He  comes  from  as  good  stock  as  you  do, 
Marshall,"  she  declared.  "His  paternal  grand- 
mother  was  a  Stanley  and  his  mother  was  a  Win- 
throp.  Grandmother  Endicott  used  to  talk  of  her. 
John  Burt  is  a  gentleman,  and  a  gentleman's  son. 
I  wish  I  had  a  boy  like  him! " 

It  never  occurred  to  John  or  Jessie  that  there 
was  anything  unconventional  in  the  proposed  out- 
ing. An  unusual  but  perfectly  natural  event  had 
once  more  brought  them  together.  They  liked  each 
other,  and  they  were  children  of  nature,  unskilled  in 
the  petty  restrictions  raised  by  a  menacing  propriety. 

They  cantered  along  the  stone-walled  roads; 
through  valleys  curtained  with  foliage  and  fragrant 
with  the  subtle  perfume  of  the  forest;  up  ridges  on 
whose  crest  they  caught  a  glimpse  of  ocean,  and 
felt  its  healing  breath  upon  their  cheeks.  From 
the  fields  the  incense  of  new-mown  clover  was 
wafted  to  them.  They  eased  a  moment  to  watch 
the  toilers  rhythmically  swinging  their  scythes. 

With  light  hearts  they  rode  through  the  aisles 
of  the  pine  woods,  past  the  hotels,  until  they 
reached  the  seashore.  The  tide  was  out  and  they 
loitered  along  the  beach,  hard  and  smooth  as 
asphalt.  Their  horses  splashed  knee  deep  in  the 
surf.  They  paused  to  examine  the  bones  of  a  ship 
which  had  been  hurled  to  its  death  on  the  rocks 
years  before.  Sixty  lives  had  been  lost  in  the 
wreck,  but  children  had  made  a  playhouse  of  the 
vessel's  skeleton,  and  their  careless  laughter 


JOHN  BURT 

sounded  to  the  mourning  accompaniment  of  the 
waves. 

An  hour  later  they  stood  on  the  heights  above 
Point  Allerton.  Below,  the  wide  crescent  of  Nan- 
tasket  Beach  swung  to  the  south  and  east ;  within  it 
"  crawled  the  wrinkled  sea."  Every  foot  of  ground 
was  hallowed  by  history  and  legend.  From  that 
point  their  ancestors  watched  the  Chesapeake  as 
she  sailed  proudly  out  to  fight  the  Shannon ;  there 
they  had  wept  when  they  learned  that  the  brave 
Lawrence  had  gone  to  his  death  shouting  encour- 
agement to  his  crew.  Thence  Captain  John  Smith 
first  sighted  the  harbor.  The  red  warriors  of  King 
Philip  camped  where  they  stood.  A  short  distance 
away  the  Mary  and  John  had  anchored  with  her 
freight  of  pioneers.  A  mile  to  the  north  stood 
Boston  Light,  and  they  pictured  Lord  Howe's  fleet 
sailing  past  it,  swelling  disdainfully  out  to  sea. 
Near  by  a  black  beacon  marked  "  Nix's  Mate  " — 
the  lost  island  devoured  by  the  sea  in  response  to 
a  pirate's  curse. 

They  rode  quietly  down  the  hill,  followed  the 
shell  road  past  Stony  Beach,  and  climbed  "  Tele- 
graph Hill."  The  little  .village  of  Hull  cuddled 
snugly  to  their  feet,  and  beyond  the  wealth  of 
Boston  Harbor  lay  before  them. 

"  This  is  where  father  recites  poetry,"  laughed 
Jessie  as  they  rested  on  the  site  of  the  old  French 
fort.  "  You  should  see  him !  He  stands  and  looks 
away  over  there  to  Boston — just  like  Daniel 
ca 


SUMMER  DAYS 

Webster   on    a    pedestal — then    he    recites   a   long 
poem.     Do  you  remember  it? 

"  From  cape  to  cape,  search  round  our  noble  bay 
No  lovelier  sight  than  here  can  eye  survey ; 
From  yonder  hill  when  sunset's  blazing  sheen 
Sets  in  a  golden  frame  the  pictured  scene, 
Let  the  eye  wander  freely  as  it  will, 
Landward  or  seaward — all  is  beauty  still  I  " 

"Lunt's,  isn't  it?"  said  John  Burt.  "Why 
don't  you  quote  Whittier? 

"Broad  in  the  sunshine,  stretched  away 
With  its  capes  and  islands,  the  turquoised  bay; 
And  over  water  and  dusk  of  pines 
Blue  hills  lift  their  faint  outlines  !  " 

To  the  west  lay  the  blue  hills  of  Milton,  the 
tranquil  Vesuvius  of  this  American  Naples.  The 
island-studded  harbor  gleamed  in  the  September 
afternoon.  Out  over  the  hungry  Brewsters,  past  the 
bluff  profile  of  Marblehead,  out  to  where  in  the 
mellow  distance  was  the  faint  outline  of  Cape  Ann — 
the  rugged  sentinel  of  the  fishing  fleet — they  gazed 
speechless  and  happy.  The  streaked  ridges  of 
Nahant,  the  green  elms  of  Apple  Island,  the  ver- 
dant terraces  of  Fort  Warren,  the  bluffs  of  Long 
Head,  the  hermit  cliffs  of  Peddock's,  the  round, 
green  knoll  of  Bumpkins,  the  grassy  hills  of 
World's  End,  the  amethystine  gleam  of  Quincy  and 
Weymouth,  Boston's  roofs  confusedly  hurled — 
these,  set  in  a  glorious  backing  of  sapphire  sea  and 
turquoise  sky,  made  the  gifts  God  gave  those  two 

53 


JOHN  BURT 

that    afternoon.      In  the  harbor  of  Hull  rested    a 
fleet  of  yachts — 

So  still  the  sails,  they  seemed  to  be 
White  lilies  growing  in  the  sea. 

"Isn't  it  good  to  be  an  American?"  asked 
Jessie,  as  her  hand  stole  into  John's.  Just  then 
a  full-rigged  ship,  making  from  Boston  Harbor, 
spread  her  sails  and  stood  out  past  them.  Jessie 
looked  at  her  as  Lohengrin  might  have  looked  at 
the  swan,  and  whispered : 

"  Wasn't  it  Longfellow  who  stood  here  and  felt 
with  us : 

"  My  soul  is  full  of  longing 

For  the  secret  of  the  sea ; 
And  the  heart  of  the  great  ocean 

Sends  a  thrilling  pulse  through  me  ?" 

"  Yes,  Jessie,  not  only  Longfellow,  but  Emer- 
son, Hawthorne,  Thoreau,  and  Channing  dreamed 
here,"  said  John.  "  Lafayette  built  that  fort,  and  the 
Count  D'Estaing  and  Rochambeau  camped  here. 
Miles  Standish  fought  Indians  on  that  plain,  and  to 
us  loyal  New  Englanders  every  foot  is  sacred — but, 
Jessie,  too  much  poetry  makes  poor  feeding.  I'm 
hungry." 

"  So  am  I,"  laughed  Jessie.  "  Come  on,  I'll 
race  you  to  the  inn!"  and  she  sprang  to  her  saddle 
before  John  could  assist  her. 

Picking  their  way  carefully  down  the  steep  hill, 
they  reached  the  hard  roadbed.  Then  Jessie  spoke 
to  her  horse  and  dashed  ahead.  She  was  a  good 

54 


SUMMER  DAYS 

rider,  and,  though    it  was  a  close  race,  John    gal- 
lantly conceded  defeat. 

In  the  dining-room  were  many  guests  from 
Boston,  and  they  united  to  make  a  merry  party.  It 
was  three  o'clock  when  they  started  again  for  Nan- 
tasket.  They  trotted  gently  through  Love  Lane, 
past  the  old  Gushing  place,  until  they  came  to  the 
ancient  Hull  turnpike,  which  has  been  compared  to 
the  Appian  Way.  The  next  five  miles  they  covered 
at  a  canter. 

As  John  helped  Jessie  from  her  horse  at  Nan- 
tasket  some  one  touched  him  on  the  shoulder. 
John  turned. 

"  Haou  de  ye  dew,  John?"  exclaimed  a  strange 
figure  of  a  man,  standing  there  all  grins.  "  I  swan, 
I'm  glad  ter  see  ye  up  an'  'round  agin  I  Haou  de 
ye  dew,  John?  Haou  air  ye?" 

"All  right,  Sam,"  said  John  shaking  hands. 

Sam  was  the  country  sport  of  Rocky  Woods, 
with  a  fame  extending  to  Cohasset  and  not  wholly 
unknown  in  Hingham.  He  owned  the  only 
thoroughbred  trotting  horse  in  the  neighborhood. 
Hitched  to  a  wonderful  sulky,  this  animal  stood  at 
the  curb,  attended  by  an  admiring  group  of  boys, 
to  one  of  whom  had  been  awarded  the  honor  of 
holding  his  head.  It  was  Saturday,  arid  Sam  was  in 
gala  attire.  He  was  tall  and  awkward.  His  large, 
good-natured  mouth,  wide  open,  displayed  rows  of 
white  teeth ;  his  small  blue  eyes  twinkled  shrewdly, 
and  his  ears  stood  clear  of  a  mass  of  red  hair. 

55 


JOHN  BURT 

He  wore  a  white  cap  with  a  gold  band  and  a 
long,  rakish  visor;  a  checkerboard  suit,  with  large 
squares  of  brown  and  gray ;  a  high  collar,  which 
did  not  conceal  the  elongated,  freckled  neck ;  a 
flaming  red  scarf,  with  a  "  stone  "  of  startling  size 
and  setting ;  a  double  watch-chain,  with  a  twenty 
dollar  gold  piece  as  pendant ;  yellow  spats  above 
pointed  shoes,  the  projecting  soles  of  which  were 
milled  with  bright  yellow  threads.  Such  were  the 
more  conspicuous  features  of  Sam's  attire  as  he 
accosted  John  Burt. 

John  glanced  again  at  Jessie,  and  the  laughter 
in  her  eyes  was  a  sufficient  hint. 

"  Miss  Garden,  let  me  present  Mr.  Rounds,  a 
schoolmate  and  neighbor." 

Sam  doffed  his  cap  with  a  sweeping  bow. 

"  Delighted  ter  meet  ye,  Miss  Garden,"  he  ex- 
claimed, with  a  sincerity  which  did  not  belie  his 
words.  He  extended  a  huge  hand.  "  Have  often 
seen  ye  ridin'  by  and  heerd  all  erbout  that  air 
runerway.  I  swan,  that  was  a  mighty  ticklish  shave 
fer  ye,  Miss  Garden  I  Good  thing  John  was 
around.  Lucky  fer  John,  too,  I  reckon!"  Sam 
grinned  and  looked  at  John,  whose  face  flushed. 
"  Don't  mind  what  I  say,  Miss  Garden !  I  say  a 
lot  of  things  besides  my  prayers ;  don't  I,  John. 
Tell  ye  what  let's  do!  Let's  have  some  sody  water 
an'  ice  cream.  It's  my  treat  to-day !  Sold  a  hoss 
this  mornin'  an'  made  forty-two  dollars  clean 
profit  on  him.  I'm  great  on  hosses,  Miss  Garden. 
56 


SUMMER  DAYS 

John,  here,  runs  ter  books  an'  studyin'  an'  all 
that.  But,  as  I  say,  my  strong  holt  is  hosses. 
They  say  we  all  has  our  little  weaknesses — present 
company,  of  course,  excepted.  Let's  go  an'  git 
that  sody  an'  ice  cream."  And  Sam  led  the  way 
to  a  pavilion  and  impressively  ordered  the  sug- 
gested refreshments. 

Jessie  engaged  Sam  in  conversation,  laughing 
merrily  at  his  odd  remarks  and  stories.  He  pointed 
to  an  old  farmer  who  drove  past  in  a  rickety  wagon. 

"  There  goes  old  man  Shaw,"  said  Sam.  "  He 
lives  down  the  road  from  our  house,  an'  he's  a  great 
character.  He's  lived  whar  he  does  now  fer  sixty 
year  or  more,  an'  he's  the  most  regular  man  in  his 
habits  anywhar  near  Hingham.  John  knows  him. 
He  goes  ter  town  every  Saturday,  an'  he's  comin' 
back  now.  Never  was  known  tew  buy  nothin', 
though  he  did  try  tew  buy  one  garter  once,  and 
kicked  because  the  clerk  wouldn't  sell  him  less'n  a 
pair.  He's  just  got  in  the  habit  of  goin'  tew  town 
on  Saturday  afternoon,  an'  he  can't  break  hisself  on 
it.  He  hitches  that  old  hoss  up  tew  a  post,  walks 
'round  town  solemn  like  fer  an  hour  er  more,  talks 
ter  the  blacksmith,  an'  then  climbs  inter  the  wagon 
an'  goes  back  home.  He  had  a  great  time  yester- 
day," and  Sam's  eyes  danced  with  laughter. 

"  Tell  us  of  it,"  insisted  Jessie,  though  Sam 
needed  little  urging. 

"  As  I  said  afore,  old  man  Shaw  is  very  reg'lar 
in  his  habits,"  continued  Sam.  "  He  lives  near  the 

57 


JOHN  BURT 

crossroads,  where  thare's  a  post  office  an'  two  er 
three  stores.  Well,  every  mornin'  fer  forty  years 
back,  old  man  Shaw  has  gone  tew  the  post  office, 
an'  asked  if  thare  was  eny  mail  fer  him.  Thare's 
never  been  a  letter  fer  him,  an'  it  ain't  likely  thare 
ever  will  be,  but  when  a  habit  once  gets  sot  on  old 
man  Shaw,  he  can't  git  rid  on  it  nohow.  So  he 
keeps  on  askin'  fer  a  letter,  though  thare's  no  one 
in  the  world  tew  write  him  one. 

"  After  he  leaves  the  post  office  he  walks  down 
tew  Jones,  the  cobbler's  place,  which  is  in  the  base- 
ment. Thare  he  meets  Jones  an'  two  other  old  fel- 
lers, an'  they  plays  seven-up  all  the  forenoon.  They 
plays  just  fer  fun,  but  they  plays  as  hard  an'  gets 
as  excited  as  if  they  was  playin'  fer  a  thousand  dol- 
lars a  game.  When  it  comes  noon  they  all  quits  an' 
goes  home.  These  four  old  fellers  has  been  playin' 
that  air  game  of  seven-up  ever  since  I  can  remember. 

"Yesterday  mornin'  Mrs.  Shaw  told  the  old 
man  the  cistern  orter  be  cleaned  out.  It  hadn't 
rained  fer  so  long  that  the  water  was  all  gone,  and 
she  'lowed  it  was  a  good  chance  tew  clean  it  out. 
Old  man  Shaw  'lowed  she  was  right,  but  said  his 
rheumatics  was  so  all-fired  bad  it  wouldn't  dew  fer 
him  tew  go  down  intew  no  damp  place  like  a  cis- 
tern ;  so  he  lowered  the  old  woman  an'  sent  her 
down  a  pail  of  water  an'  some  soap  an'  a  scrubbin' 
brush. 

"Til  go  down  tew  the  post  office  an'  see  if 
thare's  a  letter,  an'  then  come  back  and  pull  ye  out,' 
5« 


SUMMER  DAYS 

he  hollered  down  the  openin.'  She  said,  'All  right,' 
an'  went  tew  work.  Old  man  Shaw  went  tew  the 
post  office,  asked  fer  a  letter,  an'  of  course,  thare 
warn't  none.  He  started  back,  an'  was  just  passin' 
the  cobbler's  place,  when  he  met  Jones. 

"  '  Whare  ye  goin'  ? '   he  asked  old  man  Shaw. 

"'The  old  woman's  cleanin'  the  cistern,  an' 
I've  got  tew  go  home  an'  haul  her  out,'  says  Shaw. 

'"She  ain't  got  it  done  yet,'  says  this  no- 
account  Jones.  '  It  takes  a  powerful  long  time  ter 
clean  a  cistern  out  proper.  Bill  an'  Gus  is  down 
stairs  waitin'  fer  ye.  Let's  play  'em  one  game,  an' 
then  ye  can  go  home  an'  pull  the  old  woman  up. 
The  way  them  fellers  beat  us  yesterday  was  shame- 
ful. They're  braggin'  about  it  now.  Let's  lick 
'em  one  game  eny  way.' 

"  Old  man  Shaw  said  he  would  play  just  one 
game.  He  sot  down  an'  they  went  at  it.  He  an' 
Jones  lost  the  game  by  one  point,  an'  then  they 
played  'nuther.  That  time  they  won,  an'  then  they 
played  the  rubber.  It  seemed  so  nat'ral  tew  be 
playin'  seven-up  that  old  man  Shaw  just  plumb  fer- 
got  all  about  his  wife  bein'  down  in  the  cistern,  an' 
they  kept  on  playin'  until  the  clock  struck  twelve. 

"As  I  said  before,  it's  always  dark  down  in 
Jones'  basement,  an'  none  on  'em  took  any  ac- 
count on  what  was  goin'  on.  You  know  how  it 
rained  yesterday  mornin'?  It  started  in  tew  pour 
'long  about  nine  o'clock."  Sam  paused  to  laugh. 
"When  old  man  Shaw  came  out  er  Jones'  base- 


JOHN  BURT 

ment,  the  gutters  was  full  of  water  an'  the  rain  was 
comin'  down  in  sheets.  For  three  hours  it  had 
been  rainin'  cats  an'  dogs !" 

"That  poor  old  woman!"  exclaimed  Jessie. 
"  It  rained  dreadfully.  You  should  be  ashamed  to 
laugh,  John  Burt,"  she  added,  vainly  attempting  to 
repress  a  smile. 

"  It  was  pretty  tough  on  her,  an'  no  mistake," 
said  Sam.  "  It  was  rainin'  like  sin,  an'  old  man 
Shaw  was  plumb  scared  ter  death.  He  ran  all  the 
way  home.  Every  time  he  looked  at  a  gutter-spout 
he  nearly  fainted  away.  He  come  tew  his  place  an' 
ran  'round  the  back  way.  He  looked  down  the 
hole  an'  saw  nothin'  but  water. 

"'Sallie!  Sallie!'  he  hollered. 

"  The  old  woman  was  standin'  on  top  the 
bottom  of  the  pail,  up  agin  the  wall.  The  water 
was  up  tew  her  chin,  but  she  was  mad  all  over,  an' 
she  hadn't  lost  her  voice. 

"'Ye've  come  at  last,  Bill  Shaw,  have  ye?' 
she  said.  '  You  haul  me  outer  here  quicker'n  scat, 
an'  when  I  gets  up  I'll  scratch  yer  eyes  out!  Ye 
done  this  on  purpose !  Ye  haul  me  out,  an'  I'll  fix 
ye  fer  this  day's  work !' 

"The  old  man  lowered  a  rope,  an'  after  a 
hard  tussle  hauled  her  up.  The  neighbors  say 
she  mopped  him  all  over  the  yard,  an'  I  say  it 
sarved  him  right." 

Sam  related  several  other  incidents  in  the  career 
of  the  Shaws,  ajid  Jessie  laughed  until  the  tears  ran 
60 


SUMMER  DAYS 

down  her  cheeks.  They  bid  Sam  good-day,  and 
watched  him  until  he  disappeared  with  the  famous 
trotter  in  a  cloud  of  dust. 

The  surf  was  dotted  with  bathers,  and  the 
temptation  to  join  them  was  too  great  to  be  re- 
sisted. They  spent  an  hour  in  the  water,  and 
emerged  refreshed  and  ravenously  hungry. 

After  supper  they  waited  for  the  rising  of  the 
full  moon.  They  saw  the  stately  orb  of  night 
break  above  the  ocean's  rim  and  blend  its  white 
light  with  the  pink  afterglow  of  sunset.  It  silvered 
a  broad  path  which  cut  the  sombre  shaft  of  Minot's 
Light.  The  curling  breakers  broke  into  phosphor- 
escent flame,  and  the  edges  of  the  cliffs  were  frosted 
with  its  pure  glow.  From  a  rocking  yacht  just 
beyond  the  line  of  surf  came  the  tinkling  of  guitar 
and  zither,  harmonized  with  a  rollicking  song  of 
the  sea.  A  great  steamship,  dotted  with  yellow 
lights,  swung  majestically  into  the  harbor. 

The  moon  began  her  dizzy  climb.  Bathed  in 
her  flood,  they  turned  their  horses  homeward,  rid- 
ing through  a  shadowed  and  shimmering  fairyland. 
Touched  by  the  magic  wand  of  night,  the  dreary 
huckleberry  patches  became  Italian  gardens.  The 
gnarled  and  wind-wrenched  apple  trees  were  etched 
in  lines  of  weird  beauty  against  the  sky.  The 
rugged  stone  walls  were  softened,  and  faded  away 
into  dreamy  perspectives. 

They  turned  into  the  gloom  of  the  maples, 
and  found  Mrs.  Bishop  waiting  by  the  old  gate. 

6i 


JOHN  BURT 

"Did  you  have  a  good  time?"  she  asked, 
kissing  her  niece. 

"Oh,  glorious,  auntie!"  exclaimed  Jessie.  "I 
never  had  so  good  a  time  in  all  my  life!" 

In  the  years  which  followed,  how  the  scenes 
and  incidents  of  that  summer  came  back  to  John 
Burt!  Under  many  skies  he  recalled  the  happy 
hours  spent  with  Jessie  Garden.  Again  he  drifted 
with  her  in  a  boat,  floating  at  will  of  breeze  and 
tide,  her  hand  trailing  in  the  water,  and  the  mur- 
mur of  her  voice  in  his  ears.  Again  he  stood 
with  her  in  the  night  shadows  by  the  old  well, 
lowering  the  bucket  into  its  cool  depths.  He 
saw  the  water  glistening  in  the  cup  as  he  handed 
it  to  her;  saw  the  soft  light  of  her  eyes;  the 
sheen  of  her  hair;  and  felt  the  thrill  of  her 
touch  when  their  hands  met.  Again  they  walked 
down  the  wooded  path,  while  the  black  of  the 
night  stood  like  a  wall  in  front  of  them,  and  Jessie 
clutched  at  his  arm  *when  an  owl  sounded  his 
solemn  cry. 

Jessie  was  going  to  Vassar,  and  John  had 
passed  the  examination  which  admitted  him  to 
Harvard.  He  found  that  he  could  study  much 
better  under  the  shade  of  the  Bishop  trees  than  in 
any  other  spot,  and  Jessie  held  the  text-books 
while  he  recited.  The  weeks  glided  by  like  a 
dream. 

One  day  in  autumn  he  stood  by  her  side  on  the 
station  platform  in  Hingham.  As  the  train  rum- 
62 


SUMMER  DAYS 

bled  in,  something  rose  to  his  throat  and  a  film 
stole  over  his  eyes. 

"  Good-bye,  John !" 

"  Good-bye,  Jessie!" 

The  train  glided  out  from  the  station ;  a  little 
hand  fluttered  a  lace  handkerchief  from  a  window ; 
a  sunburned  pair  waved  in  reply.  Jessie  had  gone 
back  to  Boston. 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 

ARTHUR  MORRIS 

WHEN  Randolph  Morris  had  amassed  a 
couple  of  millions  in  New  York  banking 
and  stock  manipulation,  he  decided  to 
establish  a  New  England  country  place  in  keep- 
ing with  his  wealth  and  station.  He  selected  a 
site  near  Hingham,  overlooking  Massachusetts 
bay,  with  a  distant  view  of  the  ocean.  He  pur- 
chased and  consolidated  a  number  of  small  hold- 
ings a  few  miles  distant  from  Peter  Burt's  farm. 
For  years  workmen  were  busy  with  the  great  stone 
mansion.  Terraces,  verdant  in  turf,  gave  beauty  to 
the  surrounding  rocks  now  softened  with  vines. 
Stables,  conservatories,  and  lodges  lent  new  distinc- 
tion to  the  landscape. 

The  eldest  of  the  Morris  children  was  Arthur, 
the  heir  to  the  bulk  of  the  Morris  fortunes.  His 
age  was  twenty-four,  and  his  experience  in  certain 
matters  that  of  a  man  of  forty.  He  was  of  medium 
height  and  stocky  build,  with  features  of  aristocratic 
mould,  but  weakened  and  puffed  as  from  habitual 
excesses.  He  had  recently  attained  the  notoriety 
of  an  unconditional  expulsion  from  Yale.  His 
name  had  figured  in  New  York  prints  in  an  esca- 
pade with  a  foreign  actress,  but  the  story  was  de- 
nied and  suppressed  before  it  reached  the  usual 
climax. 

No  whispers  of  these  and  other  bits  of  gossip 
— accurate  or  otherwise — had  reached  the  locality 
64 


ARTHUR        MORRIS 

where  he  was  to  spend  the  summer.  He  proceeded 
to  dazzle  the  country  folk  and  bewilder  the  staid 
city  people  by  the  brilliancy  of  his  equipages,  the 
speed  of  his  horses,  and  the  extent  and  perfection 
of  his  apparel.  His  steam  yacht,  rich  in  mahogany 
and  resplendent  in  brass  and  lacquer,  rode  at  anchor 
in  the  bay,  awaiting  his  pleasure. 

Commencement  days  were  past.  One  June 
morning  Jessie  Garden  arrived  in  Hingham,  and 
was  met  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bishop  in  the  old  family 
carriage.  Arthur  Morris  also  chanced  to  be  at  the 
station.  He  was  standing  at  the  head  of  his  tan- 
dem leader,  his  heavy  face  gloomy  with  a  bored 
expression.  He  listlessly  toyed  with  a  whip,  and 
glanced  at  the  arriving  passengers  as  if  faintly 
expectant  of  seeing  some  one  of  his  acquaintance. 

The  Bishop  carriage  was  next  to  his  trap.  As 
Jessie  Garden  ran  forward  and  affectionately  greeted 
her  relatives,  Arthur  Morris  abruptly  recovered 
from  his  lassitude.  He  gazed  at  Jessie  with  a 
scrutiny  too  close  to  be  condoned  as  "  a  well-bred 
stare."  She  wore  a  gray  traveling  dress,  and  looked 
so  charming  that  one  might  be  pardoned  for  an 
almost  rude  admiration.  During  the  few  minutes 
which  passed  while  the  trunks  were  coming  from 
the  baggage-room,  Arthur  Morris  watched  her  as  if 
a  radiant  being  from  another  world  had  appeared  to 
his  enraptured  vision. 

"  Gad,  but  she's  a  beauty  1"  he  exclaimed,  as 
Jessie  stepped  into  the  carriage.  "  Thank  God 


JOHN  BURT 

there's  at  least  one  good-looking  girl  in  the  neigh- 
borhood !  Who  the  devil  is  she?  Stranger,  I  sup- 
pose. James,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  addressing 
his  tiger,  "  get  in  and  be  ready  to  take  the  horses 
if  I  tell  you." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  boy  solemnly,  raising  a 
gloved  hand  to  his  hat.  Under  a  strong  curb  the 
horses  followed  the  Bishop  vehicle. 

Delighted  to  return  to  the  country,  Jessie  Car- 
den  little  suspected  that  her  arrival  had  so  aroused 
the  blase  blood  of  the  banker  millionaire's  son.  It 
was  a  long  drive,  but  at  last  Arthur  Morris  saw  the 
carriage  turn  into  the  Bishop  yard.  He  drove 
leisurely  past  the  place  till  he  regained  the  main 
road. 

On  the  old  bridge  spanning  the  creek  he  met 
a  young  man  in  a  light  road  wagon.  Morris  halted 
his  team,  and  signaled  the  driver  with  a  wave  of 
his  hand. 

"  I  say,  who  lives  in  the  big  house  to  the  south, 
on  this  side  of  the  road  ?" 

"Mr.  Bishop  lives  there. — Mr.  Thomas 
Bishop,"  replied  John  Burt. 

"  Thanks,"  said  Arthur  Morris  with  a  short 
bow.  "Any  daughters?  I'm  a  new  comer  in  this 
locality,"  he  explained  with  a  smile  meant  to  be 
confiding. 

"Mr.  Morris?"  asked  John,  as  he  surveyed 
the  handsome  equipage  and  its  owner. 

"At  your  service,"  smiled  Arthur  Morris, 

66 


ARTHUR        MORRIS 

"  My  name  is  Hurt,"  said  John.     "  The " 

u  Glad  to  make  your  acquaintance,  Mr.  Burt," 
said  Arthur  Morris,  extending  a  soft,  fat  hand 
across  the  space  which  separated  the  vehicles.  John 
shook  hands,  and  his  face  glowed  with  a  pleasure 
which  Arthur  Morris  imagined  was  due  to  the 
honor  of  meeting  so  great  a  man  as  himself.  John, 
however,  was  thinking  of  Jessie,  and  the  words  of 
the  stranger  convinced  him  that  she  had  returned. 
John  had  been  back  from  Harvard  twenty-four 
hours. 

"  Mr.  Bishop  has  no  daughter,"  said  John, 
proud  to  give  information  on  a  subject  so  dear 
to  him.  "  The  young  lady  in  their  carriage  was 
probably  Miss  Garden.  She  spends  the  summer 
seasons  with  them.  She's  expected  to-day  from 
Boston." 

"Garden?  Garden?"  repeated  Morris,  as  if 
the  matter  were  merely  of  passing  moment.  "  I 
fancy  I've  heard  of  her  people." 

"  Her  father  is  a  Boston  banker." 

"Ah,  yes;  I  know.  Lovely  old  place — that  of 
the  Bishops — isn't  it?  Fine  old  gables,  and  an  air 
of  age — Pilgrim  Fathers,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
don't  you  know.  Think  I'll  try  to  induce  the 
governor  to  buy  it.  Lovely  day  1  Delighted  to 
have  met  you,  Mr. — Mr.  Brown.  Git  up,  you 
brute ! "  and  the  tandem  was  lashed  past  John 
Burt. 

That  evening  after  dinner  Arthur  Morris  found 

67 


JOHN  BURT 

his  father  in  the  library.  For  some  time  both 
smoked  in  silence. 

"I  say  governor,"  said  Arthur,  as  if  the 
thought  had  suddenly  occurred  to  him,  "  do  you 
know  any  Gardens  in  Boston?" 

"  I  know  Marshall  Garden,  the  banker," 
growled  the  millionaire.  "What  about  him?" 

"  Oh,  nothing  much,"  rejoined  the  son  care- 
lessly. "  What's  he  worth  ?  " 

"  He's  worth  more  than  ever  he'll  be  again," 
said  Randolph  Morris  grimly.  "  He's  i»  L.  &  O. 
stock  up  to  his  neck.  If  you  knew  as  much  about 
stocks  as  you  do  about  trousers,  that  would  mean 
something  to  you — but  it  doesn't.  Garden  is  sup- 
posed to  be  worth  half  a  million.  When  he  gets 
through  with  L.  &  O.  some  one  else  will  have  the 
money  and  he'll  have  experience.  What  do  you 
want  to  know  about  Garden?  Has  he  a  daugh- 
ter? "  The  old  man  looked  sharply  at  Arthur 
Morris. 

"  Yes,  he  has,  and  she's  a  beauty,"  he  replied 
with  the  air  of  one  giving  an  expert  opinion. 

"Well,  you  keep  away  from  her! "  said  the  old 
man  gruffly,  as  he  lighted  a  fresh  cigar  and  paced 
up  and  down  the  room. 

"  Let  her  alone.  Don't  you  bother  about  any 
daughter  of  Garden's.  She'll  never  have  a  dollar. 
Do  you  understand? — not  one  dollar.  Garden's 
ruined  right  now,  but  he  doesn't  know  it.  I  do. 
What  about  this  daughter?"  he  demanded,  pausing 

68 


ARTHUR        MORRIS 

in    front   of  Arthur.      "  Is    she   stopping    around 
here  ?  " 

"She  is  spending  the  summer  at  Bishop's — a 
farmhouse  about  five  miles  from  here,"  replied  the 
son.  "  I  saw  her  to-day,  but  didn't  have  a  chance 
to  speak  to  her.  She's  a  dream,  governor !  I 
don't  care  anything  about  your  O.  &  U.,  or  R.  & 
L.,  or  whatever  stock  her  father  has  been  fool 
enough  to  buy.  I  suppose  you  will  get  the  money 
— you  generally  do.  I  want  to  meet  Miss  Garden, 
and  you  must  help  me.  She's  a  deucedly  pretty 
girl,  and  the  Lord  knows  pretty  girls  are  scarce 
enough  in  this  God-forsaken  wilderness.  Do  you 
wish  me  to  be  a  monk  in  this  old  monastery?  Say, 
governor,  you  must  write  to  Garden  before  that  G. 
and  D.  stock  downs  him,  and  say  you've  learned 
that  his  daughter  is  here,  and  that  you  and  your 
family  will  be  delighted  to  meet  her  socially,  and 
will  try  to  make  her  stay  in  the  country  agreeable. 
I'll  represent  the  family  in  the  entertaining." 

"I'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind!"  roared  Ran- 
dolph Morris.  He  stormed  and  fumed  for  a 
while,  and  then  wrote  the  letter,  as  his  son  knew  he 
would  from  the  beginning. 

"  There  it  is  I  "  he  said  as  he  handed  the  enve- 
lope to  Arthur.  "  You'd  better  tear  it  up.  But 
you're  a  fool — always  were  and  always  will  be.  For 
God's  sake,  don't  marry  the  girl  I  " 

Arthur  Morris  leaned  back  in  the  chair  and 
laughed. 

69 


JOHN  BURT 

u  I  have  never  spoken  to  her,  governor,"  he 
said,  putting  the  letter  in  his  pocket,  "  and  I  cer- 
tainly don't  contemplate  matrimony.  Can't  a  man 
have  a  summer  flirtation  without  a  marriage  at  the 
end  of  it  ?  " 

"  I  never  could,"  said  Randolph  Morris  with 
the  forced  grin  which  was  his  nearest  approach  to  a 
laugh.  He  rang  for  a  glass  of  brandy,  drank  it, 
growled  a  good  night  to  his  son  and  heir,  and 
retired. 

Jessie's  father  replied  to  Randolph  Morris' 
letter,  thanking  him  for  his  courtesy,  and  accepting 
it  on  behalf  of  the  young  woman.  General  Garden 
added  that  he  would  be  at  the  Bishop  house  on  the 
following  Saturday,  and  would  take  pleasure  in  call- 
ing on  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morris  and  presenting  his 
daughter. 

Jessie  was  greatly  excited  when  a  letter  came 
from  her  father  notifying  her  of  the  invitation  which 
had  been  received  and  accepted.  The  general  con- 
sidered the  incident  a  gratifying  recognition  of  his 
increasing  importance  as  a  financier.  To  associate 
on  terms  of  social  equality  with  Randolph  Morris 
was  an  honor  he  thoroughly  appreciated.  Jessie 
knew  little  of  the  business  prestige  such  recognition 
entailed,  but  was  delighted  with  the  opportunity  to 
meet  the  famous  Morrises,  and  in  despair  over  the 
gown  she  should  wear. 

The  day  after  she  received  the  note  from  her 
father  John  Burt  called,  and  they  took  their  first 
70 


ARTHUR        MORRIS 

horseback  ride  of  the  summer.  Each  had  many 
things  to  tell  the  other,  and  it  was  jolly  to  compare 
notes  and  recount  their  troubles  and  triumphs  in  the 
college  months  which  had  sped.  They  galloped  for 
miles  along  the  hard  sand  of  the  seashore,  and  dis- 
mounted to  rest  and  talk  beneath  the  shade  of 
pleasant  trees. 

Jessie  told  him  of  the  letter  from  her  father, 
and  with  some  pride  talked  of  the  invitation  from 
Randolph  Morris.  At  first  John  shared  in  her  de- 
light, but  his  face  grew  thoughtful,  and  indefinable 
fear  cast  its  shadow  over  him.  Something  seemed 
to  whisper  that  this  invitation  was  fraught  with 
menace. 

He  looked  at  the  slip  of  paper  in  Jessie's  hand, 
and  it  appeared  like  a  wedge  about  to  separate  them. 
And  why  should  it  not?  What  right  had  he  to  as- 
pire to  the  love  of  Jessie  Garden,  the  daughter  of 
a  rich  man ;  beautiful  beyond  any  woman  he  had 
ever  seen?  The  fear,  which  ofttimes  became  a  cer- 
tainty, that  Jessie  would  pass  beyond  his  reach,  was 
the  haunting  terror  of  his  dreams  by  day  or  night. 
She  had  everything — youth,  health,  beauty,  wealth 
and  position.  He  had  youth  and  health — so  had 
the  average  farm  laborer. 

"  Let's  climb  Strawberry  Hill  and  watch  the 
sunset,"  suggested  Jessie. 

John  helped  Jessie  up  the  steep,  winding  path, 
and  they  stood  on  the  crest  of  the  hill.  The  broad 
Atlantic  lay  to  the  east,  and  the  island-dotted  bay 

71 


JOHN  BURT 

glowed  in  the  colors  of  a  glorious  sunset.  At  the 
horizon  was  a  mass  of  clouds;  above  burned  a  bar 
of  red — the  red  of  blood.  To  the  zenith  were 
spread  the  gorgeous  tints  with  which  the  setting  sun 
tinseled  the  closing  curtains  of  night.  Delicate 
greens  toned  through  the  shades  of  orange  into  rich 
amethyst,  and  against  this  background  a  lacework 
o*  _iouds  flaunted  the  thousand  gradations  of  the 
spectrum.  But  the  bar  of  red  above  the  dun  cloud 
dominated.  It  was  reflected  in  the  water  of  the 
bay,  shimmering  in  the  rubescent  glow. 

They  stood  silent  for  minutes  under  the  spell 
of  nature's  grandest  spectacle.  The  sun  dipped 
lower  until  its  arc  touched  the  line  of  the  cloud. 
Sharp  as  a  knife,  the  black  bank  slowly  obscured 
the  face  of  the  sun,  until  a  red  hemisphere,  weird 
and  unreal,  glowered  and  quivered  in  the  western 
sky. 


CHAPTER  EIGHT 

JEALOUSY 

JESSIE  GARDEN'S  reception  in  the  Morris 
mansion  opened  to  her  a  new  and  an  attractive 
world.  Accustomed  from  childhood  to  the 
comforts  and  luxuries  of  comparative  wealth,  she 
was  awed  by  the  magnificent  sensuousness  of  the 
millionaire's  palace,  and  by  the  pomp  and  splendor 
of  its  decorations  and  fittings.  The  massive  granite 
entrance,  the  grand  stairway  of  gleaming  marble, 
the  mosaic  floors,  the  carvings  and  sculpture  half 
hidden  by  palms  and  ferns,  the  priceless  tapestry 
and  paintings,  bespoke  affluence  unbounded. 

After  formal  introductions  and  a  brief  conver- 
sation, the  elder  Morris  invited  General  Garden  into 
the  library  for  a  business  conference,  and  left  the 
young  people  to  their  pleasure.  Jessie  thought  the 
Morris  girls  charming,  but  Arthur  contrived  to 
inveigle  her  away  from  them  and  to  lead  her  through 
the  grounds.  From  a  hill  he  pointed  to  his  yacht, 
the  Voltaire,  at  anchor  in  Hingham  Bay.  He  was 
polite,  attentive,  and  vivacious — traits  rarely  exhib- 
ited by  this  pampered  young  man,  who  at  twenty- 
four  found  many  of  the  joys  of  life  ashes  upon  his 
lips. 

Nevertheless,  without  attempting  to  analyze  or 
justify  her  feelings,  Jessie  was  not  favorably  im- 
pressed with  Arthur  Morris.  There  is  a  psycho- 
logical barrier  between  vice  and  virtue ;  an  instinct 
which  places  innocence  on  guard.  The  young 

73 


JOHN  BURT 

man's  personality  was  of  slight  importance  at  the 
moment,  but  Jessie  did  not  like  him — why,  she 
neither  knew  nor  cared.  To  a  man  of  fine  mental 
and  moral  fiber  this  aversion  would  have  been  tele- 
pathically  apparent  without  spoken  word  or  man- 
nerly rebuff;  but  Arthur  Morris  was  pleased  and 
satisfied  with  his  supposed  progress.  Jessie  tact- 
fully eluded  his  further  attentions,  and  spent  the 
remainder  of  the  afternoon  with  his  sisters. 

After  extending  formal  invitations  for  a  call  in 
return,  General  Garden  and  Jessie  drove  slowly 
homeward.  The  general  was  silent  and  depressed, 
as  with  existing  or  impending  trouble. 

Three  days  later  Arthur  Morris  called  at  the 
Bishop  house  and  found  Jessie  at  home.  They 
chatted  for  an  hour  or  more,  and  he  secured  her 
consent  to  be  one  of  a  coaching  party  on  the  next 
Saturday.  Had  it  not  been  for  his  presence,  she 
would  have  enjoyed  the  expedition  thoroughly. 

Yielding  to  the  repeated  invitations  of  the 
Morris  sisters,  Jessie  agreed  to  accompany  them  on 
a  yacht  cruise  to  Gloucester  on  the  following  Tues- 
day. During  this  trip  the  attentions  of  Arthur 
Morris  became  so  insistent  that  she  resolved  to 
check  them  at  the  earliest  opportunity.  An  inkling 
of  the  truth  dawned  upon  the  owner  of  the  yacht, 
muddled  as  he  was  with  wine,  but  this  suspicion 
did  not  deter  him  from  announcing  that  he  would 
call  at  the  Bishops'  place  on  Saturday  to  take  her 
on  a  drive  behind  a  team  of  blooded  steppers, 

74 


JEALOUSY 

recently  arrived  from  New  York.  Jessie  was  silently 
indignant  at  his  cool  presumption.  When  the 
party  landed  at  the  pier,  Morris  was  not  a  little 
astonished  at  the  curt  refusal  she  gave  to  his  proffer 
of  escort. 

More  than  a  week  had  passed  since  John  and 
Jessie  watched  the  red  sunset.  From  Sam  Rounds 
— who  knew  of  everything  that  happened  for  miles 
about — John  heard  of  the  yachting  party,  and 
drank  deep  of  the  lover's  first  cup  of  suspicion, 
bitter  with  the  wormwood  of  jealousy.  The  great 
Morris  mansion  became  a  wall  which  mocked  his 
ambitions.  The  Voltaire  took  on  the  shape  of  a 
thing  of  evil,  gliding  out  to  sea  with  the  one  who 
was  nearest  and  dearest  to  him.  He  pictured  young 
Morris,  surrounded  by  the  trappings  of  wealth, 
paying  homage  to  Jessie.  He  heard  suave  compli- 
ments ;  saw  the  smile  on  Jessie's  lips,  and  felt  the 
delicate  flush  on  her  cheeks.  The  thought  was 
maddening. 

He  decided  to  call  on  Jessie  and  learn  his  fate. 
Invigorated  by  the  ride,  the  thought  occurred,  as 
he  crossed  the  old  bridge,  that  he  had  never  said  a 
word  to  Jessie  of  love.  It  dawned  on  John  Burt 
that  he  was  a  jealous  fool. 

When  he  entered  the  shade  of  the  Bishop 
maples,  he  was  once  more  in  his  right  mind.  His 
heart  leaped  when  Jessie  came  forward  to  meet  him. 
There  was  tenderness  in  her  eyes  and  welcome  in 
the  clasp  of  the  warm  little  hand  which  nestled  for 

75 


JOHN  BURT 

an  instant  in  his.  To  her  question  concerning  his 
absence  John  made  an  evasive  reply,  and  rather 
abruptly  asked  how  she  enjoyed  the  visit  to  the 
Morris  mansion  and  the  cruise  on  the  Voltaire. 

He  was  answered  by  a  toss  of  the  little  head 
and  a  tightening  of  the  lips,  eloquent  and  decisive 
in  their  emphasis. 

"Saddle  my  horse,  John;  let's  ride!"  she  said. 

Puzzled  but  delighted,  John  obeyed,  and  set 
himself  stolidly  to  enjoy  her  presence  as  they  gal- 
loped along  the  beach. 

"  Have  you  an  engagement  for  Saturday?" 
asked  Jessie  as  they  rested  beneath  the  old  willows 
at  the  base  of  Strawberry  Hill. 

"I  have  none.  Can  I  do  anything?"  asked 
John  eagerly. 

"  I  have  cousins  who  live  near  the  beach  twelve 
miles  south  of  here,"  said  Jessie.  "  I  want  to  spend 
a  day  with  them.  They  are  lovely  girls,  and  I  know 
you  would  like  them.  Uncle  Tom  and  his  men  are 
busy,  and  I  thought  perhaps  you  could  drive  me 
over  early  in  the  morning.  Do  you  think  you 
could  endure  the  company  of  three  foolish  girls  all 
day,  John?" 

"  I  could  enjoy  the  company  of  one  wise  little 
girl  forever,"  said  John,  with  a  fervor  which 
astounded  him  when  the  words  were  uttered.  A 
blush  suffused  Jessie's  cheek,  but  her  drooping 
eyes  expressed  no  rebuke.  "  I — I — shall  be  de- 
lighted to  be  your  escort,"  stammered  John,  far 
76 


JEALOUSY 

more  confused  than  the  subject  of  his  ardent  com- 
pliment. "When  will  you  be  ready,  Jessie?" 

"  You  may  call  at  8  o'clock  if  you  will,"  said 
Jessie,  without  raising  her  eyes. 

They  rode  slowly  homeward  in  the  glow  of 
the  twilight.  The  barren  country,  with  its  sands, 
marsh,  shrubs  and  rocks,  was  a  fairy  realm  to  John 
Burt.  The  sand  was  spun  gold ;  the  marsh  a  wil- 
derness of  flowers;  the  shrubs  pendent  with  dia- 
monds ;  the  rocks  turreted  castles ;  the  fair  girl  by 
his  side  a  princess,  and  he  a  gallant  knight  whose 
life  was  at  her  service. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  the 
Morris  trap  stopped  in  front  of  the  Bishop  farm- 
house. Tossing  the  reins  to  a  groom,  Arthur  Mor- 
ris sounded  the  old-fashioned  knocker,  and  the 
maid  responded.  Morris  was  looking  his  best.  His 
eye  was  clear,  and  his  smooth,  plump  face  was 
ruddy. 

"  Present  my  compliments  to  MLiss  Garden," 
he  said,  offering  a  card. 

"  Miss  Garden  is  not  at  home,"  replied  the 
maid.  "  She  left  early  this  morning  with  Mr.  Burt 
for  a  visit  to  relatives  some  miles  from  here,  and 
said  she  would  not  return  until  late  in  the  evening. 
Will  you  come  in,  sir?" 

"No,  thank  you.  Very  sorry,  I  am  sure."  His 
face  grew  dark,  but  his  voice  was  quiet  as  he  said : 
"  Tell  Miss  Garden  of  my  disappointment,  and  say 
I'll  call  some  day  soon." 

77 


JOHN  BURT 

The  maid  courtesied  and  watched  Arthur  ad- 
miringly as  he  strode  down  the  path  and  rode 
away. 

"  Miss  Jessie's  a  foolish  little  body  to  be  run-( 
ning  around  with  John  Burt  when  rich  men's  sons' 
come  knocking  at  the  door !  "  she   soliloquized  as 
the  glittering  rig  disappeared  in   the   turn  of  the 
road. 

General  Marshall  Garden  paid  a  visit  to  the 
farm  a  week  later.  After  dinner  he  invited  Jessie 
to  a  walk,  and  his  manner  told  her  that  something 
was  impending.  They  paused  to  rest  under  an 
arbor.  The  sun  purpled  the  clustered  grapes  until 
they  glowed  like  rubies  in  settings  of  emerald. 
For  some  moments  both  were  silent. 

"  I  have  something  to  say  to  you,  Jessie,  which 
I  wish  could  be  left  unsaid,"  began  General  Car- 
den,  clearing  his  throat  uneasily.  Jessie  looked 
into  his  face  with  questioning  eyes.  "You  are 
nearly  seventeen,  Jessie,  and  are  now  a  woman,"  he 
continued,  after  a  pause.  "  You  belong  to  a  good 
family;  and,  God  willing,  you  will  inherit  a  modest 
fortune.  You  are  very  beautiful,  my  pet,  and  it  is 
natural  you  should  have  admirers.  It  shall  never 
be  said,  when  you  come  to  an  age  when  I  must 
yield  you  to  another,  that  your  father  selfishly  in- 
fluenced your  choice  in  the  most  sacred  of  all  deci- 
sions. But  that,  Jessie,  is  for  the  future.  At 
present  you  should  willingly  be  guided  by  the 
wishes  and  kindly  advice  of  your  father,  who  is  de- 
7* 


JEALOUSY 

nied  the  loving  aid  of  your  mother,  of  sainted 
memory." 

"Yes,  papa,"  said  Jessie,  softly.  "What  have 
I  done  to  make  you  speak  this  way,  papa?" 

General  Garden  started  to  speak,  but  could 
not  find  words. 

"  I  will  explain  to  you  frankly  what  has  hap- 
pened," he  said  finally,  determined  to  end  an  un- 
pleasant task.  "  I  received  a  call  yesterday  from 
Mr.  Randolph  Morris.  We  are  interested  in  a 
business  affair  of  much  magnitude ;  one  which  you 
could  not  comprehend,  and  which  I  need  not  ex- 
plain to  you.  In  a  casual  way  Mr.  Morris  spoke 
of  you  and  sent  his  compliments.  He  congratu- 
lated me  on  having  so  lovely  a  daughter,  and  ex- 
pressed regret  that  his  family  had  failed  in  an  at- 
tempt to  make  your  visit  to  the  country  more  enjoy- 
able. Of  course  this  greatly  surprised  me,  and  when 
I  pressed  him  for  particulars  he  said  he  knew  noth- 
ing, except  that  Arthur  had  called  and  that  you  had 
refused  to  see  him."  General  Garden  paused. 

"I  don't  wish  to  see  him,  papa,"  said  Jessie 
with  much  spirit.  "  I  don't  like  him,  and  I  hope 
he  will  never  call  again  !  " 

"You  don't  like  him?  And  why  don't  you 
like  him,  my  pet  ?" 

"I  just  don't  like  him,"  said  Jessie  with  con- 
clusive feminine  logic.  "  He  annoys  me.  He  said 
he  would  call  Saturday  and  take  me  out  riding,  and 
never  so  much  as  asked  me  if  I  cared  to  go  or  not. 

79 


JOHN  BURT 

So  I  went  to  visit  Cousin  Edith,  and  when  he  called 
the  maid  told  him  I  was  out." 

General  Garden  looked  greatly  relieved.  Con- 
flicting emotions  were  struggling  for  mastery. 
Parental  love  contended  with  the  stern  exigencies  of 
finance. 

"  I  am  glad  that  Arthur  has  given  you  no  more 
serious  cause  for  displeasure,"  he  said.  "  He  is 
impulsive  and  headstrong,  and  your  rebuke  was 
quite  right.  Do  not  misunderstand  me,  Jessie.  It 
is  difficult  for  me  to  explain  this  matter  to  you. 
You  know  little  of  business  affairs,  but  you  must 
know  that  Randolph  Morris  is  powerful ;  a  good 
business  friend,  and  a  foe  to  be  feared.  At  the 
present  moment  I  dread  to  incur  his  displeasure. 
It  is  the  trivial  things  which  sometimes  weigh  most 
in  commercial  affairs.  Your  slight  of  his  son  might 
be  of  vast  consequence  in  determining  Randolph 
Morris'  decision  in  a  matter  most  vital  to  our  wel- 
fare, Jessie,  my  darling.  It  might  even "  Gen- 
eral Garden  checked  himself.  His  face  was  drawn 
with  a  distress  which  Jessie  was  quick  to  perceive, 
though  not  to  comprehend, 

"  I  do  understand,  papa  dear,"  said  Jessie. 
"  I  will  write  and  ask  Mr.  Morris  to  call,  and  will 
treat  him  just  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  But  I 
know  I  can  never  like  him,  and  I  don't  have  to  try, 
do  I,  papa?" 

"  Certainly  not,  my  pet,"  said  General  Garden. 
He  kissed  his  daughter  affectionately,  and  seemed 
80 


JEALOUSY 

greatly  pleased.  Nothing  more  was  said  on  the 
subject,  and  on  Sunday  Jessie  wrote  a  note  to 
Arthur  Morris.  Two  days  later  he  called,  and 
Jessie  received  him  in  the  old-fashioned  parlor. 
Both  ignored  the  incident  of  the  preceding  week, 
and  chatted  gaily  for  an  hour  or  more.  Jessie 
accepted  his  invitation  to  a  reception  in  the  Morris 
mansion  for  Saturday  evening,  and  went  under  her 
father's  escort.  It  was  a  grand  affair,  and  scores  of 
guests  were  present  from  New  York  and  Boston. 
Arthur  and  Jessie  danced  several  times,  but  Morris 
had  sufficient  tact  to  avoid  repeating  his  mistakes. 

Two  weeks  passed,  during  which  the  rich  New 
Yorker  was  a  frequent  visitor  at  the  Bishop  farm- 
house. These  were  weeks  of  torment  to  John 
Burt.  Though  Jessie  greeted  him  as  of  old,  he 
imagined  he  could  see  her  slipping  from  his  reach. 

One  evening  John  called  when  Arthur  Morris 
was  present,  and  Jessie  introduced  them.  Arthur 
studied  his  country  rival  with  ill-concealed  con- 
tempt. He  treated  him  with  that  airy  tolerance 
which  success  grants  to  its  vanquished. 

"  By  the  way,  Mr.  Burt,"  said  Arthur  Morris, 
as  he  carelessly  rolled  a  cigarette,  "  Miss  Garden 
has  accepted  my  invitation  to  attend  to-morrow's 
clambake  near  Cohasset.  It's  the  great  annual 
event,  isn't  it,  of  this  vicinity  ?  I  wish  you  would 
join  us.  I  must  accompany  a  party  of  New  York 
friends  who  will  spend  the  night  on  my  yacht,  and 
attend  the  bake.  We  must  start  early  in  order  to 

81 


JOHN  BURT 

make  the  long  run  past  Boston  Light  and  Minot's 
Reef,  so  I  can't  offer  to  escort  Miss  Garden.  If  I 
may  presume  on  your  acquaintance  with  her,  I  shall 
ask  you  to  drive  with  her  to  the  grove,  where  I  will 
meet  you  with  my  friends." 

!.  "I  shall  be  more  than  pleased  if  Miss  Garden 
will  accept  my  escort,"  said  John. 

"Certainly  I  will  I"  laughed  Jessie.  "It  will 
be  jolly  to  see  who  gets  there  first.  We  must  start 
early,  Mr.  Burt,  and  take  care  the  Voltaire  doesn't 
beat  us !"  There  was  such  a  funny  little  accent  on 
the  "  Mr."  that  John  did  not  know  whether  to  be 
hurt  or  pleased. 

Arthur  Morris  remained  a  few  minutes  longer ; 
then  he  gaily  bade  Jessie  adieu,  shook  hands  with 
John  Burt,  and  rode  away. 

A  brilliant  red  sunset  threw  a  glare  on  John 
Burt's  face  as  he  lingered  by  Jessie's  side  at  the 
gate  in  parting.  Long  spokes  of  red  light  sifted 
through  the  maple  leaves,  and  earth  and  sky  were 
bathed  in  a  ruddy  reek. 


CHAPTER  NINE 

THE  TRAGEDY 

/CHURCHILL'S  GROVE  was  famous  for  its 
\^4  clambakes,  and  when  John  and  Jessie  drove 
into  it  the  scene  was  one  to  delight  the  heart 
of  a  loyal  New  Englander.  Years  before,  a 
thoughtful  pioneer  had  planted  long  rows  of  pines, 
whose  branches  now  interlocked,  and  whose  taper- 
ing tops  swayed  and  soughed  a  hundred  feet  above 
the  carpet  of  cones  and  needle  leaves.  It  was  na- 
ture's cathedral ;  stately  in  long  colonnades  with 
vanishing  perspectives ;  superb  in  gently  undulat- 
ing groined  arches;  glorious  in  the  blendings  of 
color,  light  and  shade,  and  fragrant  with  the  in- 
cense of  balsam  and  fir. 

Massed  around  the  grove  and  the  adjacent 
hotel  were  vehicles  of  every  description.  To  the 
true  Yankee,  everything  drawn  by  a  horse  or  horses 
is  a  u  team,"  and  as  Sam  Rounds  greeted  John  and 
Jessie  he  declared  that  he  had  "  never  seen  so  many 
teams  in  his  life."  Churchill's  Grove  fronts  on  the 
ocean,  and  a  glance  showed  that  the  Morris  yacht 
had  not  arrived.  They  watched  the  cooks  prepar- 
ing the  bake  in  a  sixty- foot  trench,  lined  with  heated 
rocks  and  covered  with  seaweed.  In  the  steaming 
embrace  of  the  weed  were  arranged  vast  quantities 
of  clams,  oysters,  sweet  potatoes,  summer  squash, 
green  corn,  cauliflower,  beets,  eggs,  lobsters,  soft- 
shelled  crabs,  bluefish,  and  the  various  fruits  and 
meats  of  land  and  sea<, 

83 


JOHN  BURT 

How  savory  it  smelled !  The  cool,  salt  breeze 
from  the  ocean,  the  aroma  from  fir  and  pine,  and 
the  odor  from  simmering  clam  and  seaweed  formed 
a  trinity  ambrosial  enough  to  make  an  Apicius  of 
an  anchorite. 

"  My  sailboat  is  anchored  near  by,"  said  John 
as  they  turned  away.  "  The  wind  died  out  the  last 
time  I  was  here,  and  I  had  to  leave  her  and  walk 
home.  Let's  take  a  look  at  her." 

John's  eighteen-foot  catboat,  the  Standish,  lay 
near  the  long  pier,  bowing  to  the  slow  surge  which 
swelled  in  from  the  Atlantic.  For  an  hour  or  more 
they  walked  along  the  hard,  smooth  sand,  crunch- 
ing the  shells  under  their  feet ;  the  song  of  the  sea 
in  their  ears,  and  its  cool  breath  on  their  cheeks. 
Then  the  great  gong  sounded  the  signal  for  dinner 
and  they  turned  to  the  grove. 

"  Mr.  Morris  must  have  been  delayed,"  ob- 
served Jessie  as  she  glanced  once  more  towards  the 
harbor.  "Come  on;  we  won't  wait  for  him." 

The  careless  note  in  her  voice,  and  the  evident 
indifference  with  which  she  treated  the  other's  ab- 
sence, were  particularly  satisfying  to  John  Burt, 
and  they  had  a  merry  time  over  dinner.  As  they 
came  out  from  the  grove  they  saw  the  Voltaire  at 
anchor,  her  upper  works  glistening  in  the  sunshine. 
Her  launch,  crowded  with  passengers,  was  just 
leaving.  They  were  hundreds  of  yards  away,  but 
their  shouts  and  laughter  sounded  plain  across  the 
water. 
84 


THE  TRAGEDY 

When  the  launch  approached,  Arthur  Morris 
was  seen  in  the  bow.  There  were  several  richly- 
dressed  young  women  in  the  party.  John  Burt  saw 
at  a  glance  that  Morris  and  some  of  his  com- 
panions were  under  the  influence  of  liquor.  Jessie 
guessed  as  much,  and  her  suspicions  became  a  cer- 
tainty when  Morris  stepped  unsteadily  to  the  land- 
ing, and  came  towards  her,  a  vacant  smile  mantling 
his  face.  His  stocky  figure  did  not  show  to  the 
best  advantage  in  the  white  yachting  suit,  and  his 
round,  red  face  glowed  beneath  the  gold-trimmed 
cap. 

After  shouting  some  unintelligible  orders  to 
his  boatmen,  and  waving  to  his  guests  to  follow 
him,  Morris  turned  and  addressed  Jessie  Garden. 
He  did  not  recognize  John  Burt. 

"A  thousand  pardons,  Miss  Garden,"  he 
said,  his  voice  husky  and  his  body  very  erect  but 
wavering.  "  A  thousand  pardons !  Detention  un- 
avoidable, assure  you — un'void'ble  detention,  assure 
you !  Had  devil  of  time — beg  pardon,  Miss  Car- 
den — had  terrible  time.  Kingsley  fell  overboard — 
'pon  m'word  he  did — and  struck  the  water.  I  tried 
to  steer  yacht  and  ran  'er  'ground.  Fact !  Ran  'er 
'ground,  and  she's  just  got  off.  'Sail  right,  though ; 
'sail  right  now.  Allow  me,  Miss  Garden,"  and  he 
stepped  forward  to  offer  his  arm.  He  had  ignored 
John  Burt,  who  remained  by  Jessie's  side. 

"Do  not  dare  to  speak  to  me,  sir!"  cried 
Jessie,  shame  and  anger  driving  the  crimson  to  her 


JOHN  BURT 

face.  "Don't  let  him  come  near  me,  John!"  she 
exclaimed,  clinging  to  Hurt's  stalwart  arm. 

"Stand  back,  Morris!"  said  John  in  a  low, 
clear  tone,  a  glitter  in  his  dark  gray  eyes.  "You 
are  in  no  condition,  sir,  to  meet  Miss  Garden." 

The  flashily-dressed  throng  of  guests  was 
grouped  behind  Arthur  Morris.  One  of  the  young 
women  cast  a  look  of  hate  at  Jessie  Garden,  and 
then  grasped  Arthur  Morris  by  the  lapel  of  his 
coat. 

"Come  on,  you  fool!"  she  said  with  a  vindic- 
tive little  laugh.  "  Don't  you  see  you're  not  wanted? 
You  haven't  sense  enough  left  to  know  your  real 
friends!"  She  turned  him  half  round, and  Kingsley 
grabbed  him  by  the  arm. 

"  Come  along,  commodore,"  said  that  young 
blood  whose  immersion  had  done  much  to  sober 
him.  "You  are  in  the  wrong  pew,  commodore! 
Cheer  up,  sad  sea  dog;  we  may  be  happy  yet!" 
And  with  laughter  and  taunts  the  guests  of  the 
Voltaire  led  the  yacht's  befuddled  owner  along  the 
pier  into  the  grove. 

Jessie  shed  tears  of  vexation,  but  anger  dried 
her  eyes.  She  turned  to  John  with  a  wistful  little 
smile  on  her  lips. 

"  Take  me  out  in  your  boat,  John,"  she  said. 
"  Let's  get  as  far  as  we  can  from  those  dreadful 
people.  Will  you,  John?" 

No  entreaty  was  necessary.  In  a  few  minutes 
the  Standish  bobbed  saucily  at  the  landing,  and 

86 


THE  TRAGEDY 

Jessie  stepped  on  board.  The  wind  had  scarcely 
filled  the  sail  when  Morris  came  running  down  the 
pier.  He  stopped  as  he  saw  the  pair  in  the  boat, 
and  glared  at  them  as  they  glided  away,  brute  rage 
showing  in  every  feature  of  his  flushed  face.  His 
friends  followed  and  led  him  back. 

Little  was  said  between  the  two  as  the  boat 
moved  swiftly  along.  Each  was  busy  with  thoughts, 
and  both  seemed  under  the  spell  of  threatened 
trouble.  John  pointed  the  boat  for  Minot's  Light, 
and  having  passed  inside  followed  the  rocky  shore, 
avoiding  the  reefs  and  shoals,  which  were  to  him  as 
an  open  book. 

When  he  came  to  the  jutting  rock  where  he 
had  knelt  on  that  stormy  night  while  Peter  Burt 
lifted  his  voice  in  prayer,  John  dropped  the  sail 
and  let  the  Standish  drift  in  the  quiet  water. 

Soft  waves  caressed  the  side  of  the  boat,  and 
the  water  gurgled  among  the  rocks  as  it  rose  and 
fell  to  the  deep  breathing  of  the  ocean.  Minot 
gleamed  white  against  the  sky.  Circling  gulls 
skimmed  the  sea;  the  sun  kissed  the  sails  of  an 
outbound  brig  and  turned  them  to  gold;  fleecy 
clouds  of  spun  silver  floated  in  the  blue  dome,  and 
the  fairest  face  in  all  the  world  met  his  eyes  as  he 
looked  into  her's. 

fr  "Tell  me  a  story,  John,  or  anything!  We're 
both  awfully  stupid  to-day.  Don't  you  think  so?" 

"I  will  tell  you  a  secret — two  secrets,"  said 
John,  gravely. 

87 


JOHN  B        U        R       T 

"  Don't  tell  me  secrets  if  you  wish  them  kept, 
John,"  laughed  Jessie.  "  I'm  a  regular  tell-tale ! " 

"You  will  keep  these  secrets — at  least,  one  of 
them,"  replied  John.  "I'm  going  away.  That's 
tne  first  secret." 

"Going  away?"  echoed  Jessie.  "Where,  John?" 

"Out  West— to  California." 

"Going  to  leave  Harvard?  Going  to  Cali- 
fornia? Surely  you're  joking!  What  does  this 
mean,  John?"  The  little  face  was  serious  now. 

"That  is  the  second  secret,  Jessie." 

There  was  that  in  his  voice  and  in  his  eyes 
which  thrilled  the  girl  by  his  side.  The  chords  of 
love  when  first  struck,  do  not  ring  out  the  clear  note 
of  the  attuned  instrument.  When  love's  eager 
fingers  pluck  clumsily  at  the  strings,  the  heart 
vibrates,  but  it  knows  not  why.  Jessie's  soft  brown 
eyes  opened  wide,  then  dropped  as  they  met  his 
fervent  gaze. 

"I  am  going  away,  Jessie,  because  I  love  you." 

The  little  hand  became  imprisoned  in  a  tender 
clasp,  and  she  listened  as  in  a  dream  to  the  words 
which  clamored  for  her  love. 

"I  must  tell  you  this,  Jessie!  I  love  you,  Jes- 
sie, with  a  love  which  at  times  has  seemed  hopeless, 
yet  I  proudly  offer  you  that  love.  Why  should  I 
not  love  you?  What  right  has  wealth  to  erect 
a  barrier  around  your  heart  and  post  sentinels 
to  challenge  one  who  worships  you  unselfishly?  I 
know  that  the  false  laws  of  society  mock  my  hopes, 

88 


THE  TRAGEDY 

but  in  defiance  of  them  I  love  you,  Jessie — I  love 
you!" 

"Please  don't,  John,  please!"  The  little  hand 
trembled  as  it  attempted  to  escape,  but  John  held 
it  fast. 

"Listen  to  me,  Jessie — listen  to  me!"  His 
voice  was  commanding  in  its  earnestness.  "I  do 
not  ask  you  to  love  me,  now.  I  do  not  ask  you  to 
promise  to  be  my  wife.  I  do  not  ask  you  to  wait 
until  I  have  made  the  fortune  which  I  hope  to  lay  at 
your  feet.  I  only  ask  you  to  know  that  I  love  you ; 
to  know  that  this  love  is  my  inspiration;  to  know 
that  no  woman  on  earth  shall  ever  share  it,  and  to 
know  that  whatever  befalls  you — be  it  sunshine  or 
rain,  happiness  or  sorrow — there  is  one  man  who 
has  no  thought  other  than  your  welfare ;  who  cher- 
ishes no  ambition  other  than  to  see  you  showered 
with  all  the  blessings  and  honors  which  God  can 
grant  to  a  good  woman.  That  is  my  love,  Jessie ! 
If  some  day  I  have  an  honest  right  to  ask  your  love 
in  return,  I  shall  do  so,  making  no  claim  on  our  old 
friendship.  May  I  love  you  that  way?  Say  that  I 
may,  Jessie!" 

"  I — I  want  you  to  love  me,  John,  but  please 
don't  speak  of  it  again,  John!"  said  Jessie,  raising 
her  eyes  glistening  with  tears.  "  I  mean — not  to 
speak  of  it  for  years,  John.  I  like  you,  and  you 
know  I  do,  or  you  would  not  talk  to  me  as  you 
have.  I  have  not  thought  of  love;  at  least,  I — I 
don't  think  I  have !  Please,  John,  promise  me  that 


JOHN  BURT 

you  will   not    say  anything  more    about  it   until — 
things  are  different.     Will  you  promise?" 

John  Hurt's  face  was  radiant  as  he  made  the 
promise. 

The  sail  was  raised,  and  they  started  back 
towards  the  grove.  The  breeze  had  freshened,  and 
the  little  boat  flew  through  the  water.  John  talked 
of  his  determination  to  go  West.  His  plans  were 
indefinite,  but  he  was  determined  to  start  as  soon 
as  possible.  Both  were  saddened  at  the  thought. 

John  helped  Jessie  to  the  landing,  and  turned 
to  see  Sam  Rounds  running  towards  them. 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  he  breathlessly  to  Jessie. 
"  I  want  you,  John!"  He  drew  John  aside.  "Ar- 
thur Morris  and  his  friends  are  drunk  in  the  hotel," 
he  said  excitedly.  "  He  says  he's  going  to  kill  you, 
and  he's  insulted  Miss  Garden  half  a  dozen  times. 
He  said  " — and  Sam  bent  over  and  whispered  in 
John's  ear. 

John's  teeth  were  set  and  his  hands  clenched, 
but  his  voice  was  calm  as  he  turned  to  Jessie. 

"  I  must  go  to  the  hotel  for  a  few  minutes.  I'll 
meet  you  and  Sam  later,"  he  said.  "You'll  excuse 
me,  won't  you,  Jessie?" 

"Oh,  John,  for  my  sake  don't  get  into 
trouble  1"  pleaded  Jessie,  who  guessed  something 
of  the  truth. 

John  walked  hurriedly  away.  Entering  the 
hotel,  he  saw  Arthur  Morris  and  five  of  his  male 
companions  seated  around  a  table  loaded  with 
90 


THE  TR,AGEDY 

champagne  bottles  and  glasses.  Like  many  drunk- 
ards, Morris  seldom  passed  beyond  a  certain  stage 
of  inebriety;  and  though  he  had  been  drinking  for 
hours,  he  was  more  sober,  mentally,  than  when  he 
left  his  yacht. 

John  stood  unobserved  in  the  deepening 
shadows  of  the  room.  Morris  was  attempting  to 
sing,  hammering  on  the  table  with  a  cane  to  beat 
time.  In  peremptory  tones  he  ordered  more  wine. 
Ranged  around  the  rooms  were  groups  of  country 
boys,  gazing  with  open  mouths  at  such  unheard  of 
prodigality. 

"You're  a  fine  Lothario,  commodore!"  said 
Kingsley,  as  he  slowly  filled  his  glass.  "  Byron  was 
a  farmer  compared  with  you.  After  all  your  boasts, 
you  let  a  yokel  cut  you  out,  shake  his  fist  in  your 
face,  and  sail  away  with  the  fair  maiden!  Your 
amours  weary  me  !  " 

"Hold  your  tongue, Kingsley! '"growled  Mor- 
ris. "  You'll  sing  a  different  tune  a  few  weeks  from 
now.  As  for  this  fellow  Burt,  I'll  horsewhip  him 
the  first  time  I  meet  him!  You  need  not  worry 
about  my  success  with  the  Garden!  I  have  met 
and  won  that  type  of  amorette  before !  That 
peach  will  ripen  and  fall.  I'll  wager  you  that  in 
less  than  a  year  I  will " 

John  Burt  glided  across  the  room,  grasped 
him  by  the  shoulders,  dragged  him  from  the  chair, 
and  with  a  grip  of  iron  shook  him  as  a  dog  does  a 
a  rat.  His  wine-glass  fell  with  a  crash  to  the  floor. 

91 


JOHN 


BUR 


"Another  word,  you  drunken  insulter  of 
women,  and  I  will  beat  your  head  to  a  pulp ! ' 

Morris'  guests  threw  themselves  between  the 
two  men,  and  John  relaxed  his  grasp  on  Morris' 
neck.  Dazed  for  the  moment,  Morris  recovered 
himself,  and  his  face  became  distorted  with  rage. 
Seizing  a  heavy  bottle,  he  hurled  it  at  John's  head. 
The  bottle  missed  its  mark  and  crashed  through  a 
mirror.  Reaching  into  his  pocket  with  a  quickness 
wonderful  in  his  condition,  he  drew  a  revolver,  and 
before  any  one  could  interfere  fired  pointblank  at 
John  Burt,  who  was  not  three  yards  away. 

Like  a  panther,  Burt  leaped  under  the  leveled 
arm.  A  second  shot  struck  the  ceiling.  In  a 
writhing,  struggling  mass,  amid  overturned  chairs 
and  tables,  and  the  flight  of  panic  stricken  specta- 
tors, both  men  lurched  heavily  to  the  floor,  John 
Burt  uppermost.  As  they  fell,  a  third  shot  was 
fired,  the  report  being  muffled  as  the  shell  ex- 
ploded within  their  close  embrace. 

The  smoking  weapon  fell  to  the  floor  from 
the  nerveless  grasp  of  Arthur  Morris.  John  Burt 
seized  it  and  thrust  it  into  his  pocket,  but  the  pre- 
caution was  unnecessary.  Morris  lay  on  the  sanded 
floor  of  the  inn,  stark  and  deathlike,  a  frown  upon 
his  face.  On  the  white  flannel  shirt  above  his  heart 
was  an  ominous  smear  of  red,  slowly  widening  in  a 
circle  with  each  respiration,  before  the  eyes  of  the 
men  who  bent  over  him.  A  froth  tinged  with 
blood  oozed  and  bubbled  from  his  mouth. 

9* 


CHAPTER     TEN 

THE       PARTING 

WRITHING  bars  of  smoke — nitric,  pungent, 
and  sulphurous — floated  over  the  heads  of 
those  whose  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  prostrate 
figure  of  Arthur  Morris.  The  afterglow  streamed 
through  the  western  windows,  tingeing  the  edges  of 
the  smoke  wreaths  and  scintillating  with  dust  sparks 
hurled  up  in  the  struggle.  The  glass-strewn  floor; 
the  overturned  chairs  and  tables;  the  blanched 
features  of  the  revelers  awed  and  sobered  by  the 
tragedy;  the  peering  faces  of  country  boys,  wide 
eyed  and  open  mouthed,  clustered  at  door  and 
window ;  the  aged  tavern  keeper,  wringing  his  hands 
at  the  sight  of  his  wrecked  belongings ;  the  deadly 
silence,  broken  only  by  the  long  drawn  and  irregular 
gasps  of  the  wounded  man ;  the  widening  smear  of 
red  on  the  garment  above  his  heart ;  the  chill  of  the 
darkening  shadow  of  death — such  was  the  horror, 
unreal  but  actual,  in  which  John  Burt  found  himself 
the  conspicuous  figure. 

He  felt  the  touch  of  a  hand  on  his  shoulder, 
and,  turning  quickly,  faced  Sam  Rounds. 

"  Fer  God's  sake,  git  outer  here,  John,  as  soon 
as  ye  can  1 "  whispered  Sam.  John  hung  back 
defiantly.  "Jessie's  waitin'  fer  ye,  John;  she  heard 
the  shots,  an'  is  scared  most  ter  death  I  Ye  prom- 
ised, John,  that  ye'd  come  right  back!  He's  a 
goner,  an'  it  ain't  no  kinder  use  stayin'  'round  here. 
Come  on,  John ;  Jessie'"  waitin'  fer  ye !  " 

93 


JOHN  BURT 

At  the  sound  of  Jessie's  name  a  wave  of  agony 
swept  over  John  Burt.  With  a  glance  at  the  motion- 
less form  of  Morris,  he  turned  and  followed  Sam 
Rounds.  No  hand  was  raised  to  stop  him.  The 
witnesses  of  the  tragedy,  held  in  a  spell,  had  eyes 
for  naught  but  its  victim. 

"Tell  ye  what  ye  do,  John,"  said  Sam  Rounds 
as  they  reached  the  open  air,  and  faced  the  breeze 
from  the  sea.  "Jump  on  my  horse  an'  git  away 
from  here  like  lightnin'.  Don't  let  'em  catch  ye, 
John!  I'll  drive  her  home — you  git  out!  " 

"  I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  replied  John 
Burt,  as  they  neared  Jessie  Garden.  "  Go  after  the 
carriage  and  meet  us  here.  Be  as  lively  as  you  can." 

"There  it  is!"  said  Sam,  pointing  a  few  rods 
away.  "  I  hitched  'em  up  while  you  was  gone  so's 
ter  have  'em  waiting  fer  ye.  But  you'd  better  take 
my  horse  an'  make  a  run'fer  it,  John!  I'll  look 
after  Miss  Garden.  They'll  git  ye,  sure !  " 

John  made  no  reply.  Jessie  ran  forward  to 
meet  him,  her  face  white  with  fear. 

"Oh,  what  has  happened,  John?  What  has 
happened?"  Her  voice  trembled  and  her  lips 
parted  with  a  vague  terror.  "Are  you  shot?  Are 
you  hurt,  John  ?  Oh,  tell  me,  John !  " 

"I'm  not  hurt,  darling,"  said  John,  looking 
into  the  uplifted  eyes.  "  Something  has  happened, 
and  we  must  leave  at  once.  I  will  tell  you  about  it 
on  the  way  home." 

A  minute  later  they  were  speeding  through  the 

94 


THE  PARTING 

gathering  darkness.  For  some  moments  neither 
spoke.  With  appalling  swiftness,  a  series  of  events 
— rearing  like  breakers  in  an  angry  sea — had  swept 
over  John  Burt,  and  left  him  numb  for  the  moment. 
Was  it  a  dream,  a  cruel  phantasmagoria  invoked  by 
fiends  to  torment  a  slumbering  brain?  Why  had 
fate  thrust  this  cup  to  his  lips?  What  sin  had  he 
committed?  The  fair  fabric  of  his  ambitions  crum- 
bled before  his  eyes. 

He  turned  and  looked  at  Jessie.  In  the  evening 
light  the  pure  profile  of  her  face  was  drawn  like  a 
cameo  against  the  fading  sky.  The  soft  folds  of 
her  hair,  the  tender  brow,  the  penciled  eyelashes, 
the  tempting  lips,  the  firm  little  chin,  and  the  slen- 
der neck — it  was  not  a  dream. 

By  a  stern  effort  John  Burt  mastered  his  emo- 
tions and  calmly  told  Jessie  what  had  happened. 
He  said  no  word  of  the  shameful  insults  in  which 
her  name  had  been  bandied  in  a  public  drinking 
place.  He  explained  that  a  quarrel  had  arisen, 
during  which  Morris  had  been  shot  with  his  own 
weapon.  Jessie  listened  breathlessly.  It  had  grown 
so  dark  that  John  could  not  see  her  face,  but  there 
was  a  tremor  in  her  voice  when  she  asked  : 

"Will  he  die,  John?" 

"  I  fear  so,"  replied  John. 

It  might  have  been  imagination,  but  he  thought 
that  Jessie  shuddered  and  drew  away  from  him. 
They  heard  the  rapid  beat  of  hoofs  behind  them, 
and  she  clutched  his  arm. 

95 


JOHN 


BUR 


"They  are  coming  after  you!"  she  exclaimed. 
"Jump  and  run,  John.  I  can  drive  home  alone. 
Please  do,  John !  Do  not  let  them  take  you  !  " 

She  grasped  at  the  reins  as  if  to  stop  the  horses. 
John  checked  the  team  and  calmly  awaited  his  pur- 
suers. There  was  that  in  Jessie's  voice  and  in  the 
touch  of  her  hand  which  filled  him  with  wild,  unrea- 
soning joy. 

Out  of  the  darkness  a  horse,  madly  ridden, 
dashed  forward,  and  was  pulled  back  on  his  haunches 
by  the  side  of  the  carnage.  A  face  peered  in — the 
homely  but  welcome  face  of  Sam  Rounds. 

"  Drive  on  as  fast  as  ye  can,  John,"  gasped 
Sam.  "I've  thrown  'em  off  the  scent.  I  ran  the 
Standish  out  inter  the  bay,  set  'er  tiller  an'  let  'er 
go,  an'  come  back  an'  told  'em  you  had  given  'em 
the  slip  that  way.  Pretty  slick,  eh  ?  You  bet  none 
o'  them  dudes  can  get  the  best  of  Sam  Rounds! 
Git  up  1 " 

Sam  gave  the  horses  a  cut  of  the  whip  which 
sent  them  dashing  down  the  road.  A  few  minutes 
later  they  reached  the  Bishop  farmhouse.  Sam 
held  the  excited  horses  while  John  helped  Jessie  to 
alight. 

"  Jump  on  my  horse  and  git ! "  said  Sam  in  a 
whisper. 

John  drew  Jessie  to  the  shadow  of  a  maple,  and 
held  her  hands  in  his. 

"  Jessie,  I  am  innocent,  but  the  world  will  hold 
me  responsible  for  the  death  of  that  blackguard. 
96 


THE  PARTING 

Sweetheart,  I  had  dreamed  of  bridging  the  gulf 
between  us.  I  had  faith  that  some  lucky  star  would 
smile  on  my  ambitions ;  that  my  youth  and  health 
would  one  day  make  me  worthy  of  the  grandest  gift 
God  gives  to  man— Lthe  love  of  the  woman  he  wor- 
ships !  That  hope  is  not  dead,  but  it  has  gone  far 
from  me.  I  must  endure  either  imprisonment  and 
disgrace  at  home  or  exile  abroad.  I  can  face  either, 
Jessie,  if  I  have  the  support  of  your  friendship,  and 
the  knowledge  that  you  hold  me  guiltless.  Can  you 
give  me  them,  sweetheart?" 

"  Both,  John,"  said  Jessie,  softly.  "  I — I — shall 
pray  for  your  success.  Go  now,  John !  Take  Sam's 
advice  and  mine.  Good-bye,  dear!"  There  were 
tears  in  the  sweet  voice. 

"Will  you  kiss  me,  Jessie?" 

Two  warm  arms  were  clasped  around  his  neck, 
and  a  face  wet  with  tears  nestled  for  a  moment  on 
his  shoulder.  The  light  from  the  parlor  window 
glistened  in  her  eyes  as  she  raised  them  to  his,  and 
she  kissed  him  twice,  with  the  live  kisses  that  come 
from  the  heart  of  a  woman  whose  affection  has 
passed  the  mysterious  border  that  separates  friend- 
ship from  love. 

"  It  may  be  years,  dearest  Jessie,  before  we  shall 
see  or  hear  from  one  another.  But  my  love  tells  me 
we  shall  meet  again.  Pray  for  me,  darling.  Good- 
bye, sweetheart,  good-bye ! " 

"  Good-bye,  John ;  God  bless  you  and  guard 
you ! " 

97 


JOHN 


BUR 


"Good-bye,  Jessie;  good-bye!" 

He  watched  her  as  she  faded  away  from  him 
and  disappeared  beyond  the  vines  which  shaded  the 
veranda. 

"Come  on,  John!"  said  Sam.  'There's  no 
time  tew  lose.  Which  way  are  ye  goin'?  Better 
take  the  Hingham  road.  Have  ye  got  any  money?  " 
And  Sam  produced  a  roll  of  bills. 

"Thank  you,  Sam,  I  don't  need  it."  John's 
hand  reached  out  to  grasp  that  of  his  friend.  "  I'm 
going  home.  Grandfather  will  advise  me  what 
to  do." 

Sam  told  him  to  be  careful,  and  with  a  hearty 
handshake  bade  him  farewell. 

"  You  can  bet  I'm  allers  yer  friend,  John,  first, 
last,  an'  all  the  time,"  he  said  as  the  other  vaulted 
into  the  saddle.  "  You'll  win,  John  Burt,  an'  don't 
ye  fergit  that  Sam  Rounds  allers  said  so.  Ye're 
clean  strain  and  thoroughbred,  an'  they  can't  down 
ye.  Good-bye,  John,  an'  good  luck  tew  ye!" 

Under  the  arched  maples  where  he  had  walked 
with  Jessie  so  many  times;  over  the  old  bridge 
where  first  he  met  her,  and  down  the  sandy  road 
where  they  had  loitered  in  summer  days  now  gone 
forever,  John  Burt  urged  the  horse  along.  In  the 
western  sky  flashes  of  lightning  heralded  a  coming 
storm.  It  was  two  miles  to  Peter  Burt's,  and  he 
soon  reached  the  gloomy  old  house.  A  figure  stood 
by  the  gate.  No  lights  were  burning,  and  the  hour 
when  Peter  Burt  habitually  retired  long  since  had 
98 


THE  PARTING 

passed.  John  rode  forward  and  recognized  his 
grandfather. 

"You  did  well  to  come  home,  my  boy,"  said 
the  old  man,  whose  deep,  calm  voice  held  an  anxious 
note.  "  Something  has  happened,  and  my  soul  has 
been  calling  you  since  dusk.  There  is  no  time  to 
lose,  my  lad.  Ride  to  the  graveyard  and  I'll  follow 
you.  It  isn't  safe  to  talk  here." 

In  the  far  corner  of  the  old  graveyard  John 
Burt  hitched  his  horse  and  turned  to  meet  his 
grandfather.  The  old  man  seated  himself  on  the 
grave  of  the  pioneer  Burt  who,  two  hundred  years 
before,  had  dared  the  dangers  of  the  wilderness. 
Though  the  lightning  flickered  in  the  west  and 
north,  the  stars  shone  bright  above,  and  their  dim 
radiance  revealed  the  giant  figure  of  the  patriarch. 

Eighty-three  winters  had  marshaled  their  snows 
since  Peter  Burt  opened  his  eyes  in  the  old  farm- 
house. Yet  his  step  was.xas  springy,  his  eye  as 
clear,  and  his  voice  as  strong  as  on  the  day  when 
John  Burt's  father  was  born.  He  was  in  his  shirt 
sleeves,  and  the  unbuttoned  front  showed  a  hairy 
chest,  massive  in  its  strength.  The  uprolled  sleeves 
revealed  the  coiled  muscles  of  his  forearm,  and  the 
slender  wrist  peculiar  to  men  of  enormous  strength. 

"Now  we  can  talk,"  he  said.  "Tell  me  what 
has  happened." 

Quickly  John  Burt  related  the  incidents  before 
the  tragedy.  He  told  of  his  love  for  Jessie,  of  his 
avowal  in  the  boat,  of  Sani  Rounds'  information, 

99 


JOHN  BURT 

and  of  the  fight  in  the  tavern.  The  old  man  made 
no  sign  during  the  recital,  and  was  silent  for  min- 
utes after  John  had  ended. 

"  He  deserved  to  die,  and  it  was  written  that  he 
should  perish  by  violence;  but  his  blood  is  not  on 
your  head,"  began  the  old  man  calmly.  "  You  had 
the  right  to  kill  him,  and  no  sin  will  be  charged 
against  you  in  the  Book  of  Life ;  but  the  laws  of 
men  may  hold  you  in  part  responsible.  There  is 
no  law  but  God's  law,  and  the  laws  of  men  are  pit- 
falls for  fools.  They  are  the  weapons  of  the  strong 
against  the  weak.  If  we  transgress  one  of  God's 
laws  he  will  exact  the  penalty,  not  only  in  this 
world  but  in  the  hereafter.  Murder,  in  the  sight 
of  God,  is  in  the  heart — not  in  the  hand.  I — I 
am " 

Peter  Burt's  voice  broke,  and  a  shudder  swept 
over  him;  but  he  controlled  himself,  and  con- 
tinued : 

'  My  boy,  will  you  take  your  grandfather's 
advice?  Will  you  heed  his  earnest  admonition  to 
the  one  being  on  earth  he  loves,  for  whom  his 
prayers  ascend  to  heaven  ?" 

"I  will,  grandfather— I  will!"  replied  John 
firmly. 

"  It  is  written  in  God's  word  :  '  If  thou  faint  in 
the  day  of  adversity,  thy  strength  is  small;  for  a  just 
man  falleth  seven  times  and  riseth  up  again,' "  said 
Peter  Burt,  laying  his  hand  on  John's  shoulder. 
"  God  has  willed  that  you  shall  be  His  instrument  in 


THE  PARTING 

great  undertakings,  and  it  is  decreed  that  the  events 
of  to-day  shall  not  be  a  stumbling-block  to  your 
feet.  His  ways  are  not  our  ways,  and  He  reveals 
Himself  to  few  of  His  servants.  I  have  prayed  that 
you  be  given  the  gift  of  understanding,  and  God 
has  answered  my  prayers.  You  are  now  to  go  out 
into  the  world,  and  though  you  may  know  it  not, 
God  will  guide  your  footsteps.  There  will  be  times 
when  the  ways  are  dark,  but  the  light  will  appear. 
Your  ways  will  not  be  understood  by  men,  and  at 
times  may  not  seem  in  harmony  with  God's  plan,  but 
He  who  directs  the  flight  of  a  bird  will  not  withhold 
His  guidance  to  the  heir  of  Peter  Burt.  Hath  He 
not  said :  '  There  is  a  spirit  in  man,  and  the  inspira- 
tion of  the  Almighty  giveth  them  understanding.' 
And,  again,  we  are  told :  '  Happy  is  the  man  that 
getteth  understanding.  She  is  more  precious  than 
rubies,  and  all  things  thou  canst  desire  are  not  to  be 
compared  to  her.  Length  of  days  is  in  her  right 
hand,  and  in  her  left  hand  riches  and  honor.'  The 
key  to  all  human  greatness,  John,  is  found  in  God's 
inspired  words  when  He  says :  '  Wisdom  is  the 
principal  thing;  therefore  get  wisdom;  and  with  all 
thy  getting,  get  understanding.  Take  fast  hold  on 
instruction;  let  her  not  go ;  keep  her;  for  she  is  thy 
life.'" 

The  old  man  paused  to  let  his  words  sink  deep 
into  the  being  of  the  young  man  beside  him. 

"  God  speaks  to  His  servants  not  by  word  of 
mouth,"  Peter  Burt  said  in  a  tone  of  unalterable 


JOHN  BURT 

conviction,  "  but  to  those  whom  He  selects  as  cap- 
tains He  gives  an  understanding  heart.  He  who 
has  the  gift  of  understanding  reads  God's  plans  in 
the  passing  events  which  mean  nothing  to  others. 
That  gift  is  your  choicest  heritage,  John  Burt.  It 
were  folly  to  imagine  that  this  unprovoked  quar- 
rel points  to  your  undoing.  It  is  the  sign  that  you 
are  at  once  to  depart  from  fields  you  have  outgrown, 
to  take  up  your  work  in  that  broader  sphere  which 
is  waiting  you.  The  fool  would  remain  and  measure 
his  innocence  against  the  wealth  and  influence  of 
those  who  devour  widow's  houses  and  who  despoil 
the  virtue  of  maidens.  Something  has  whispered  to 
me  that  you  should  go  to  California.  To-day's 
event  is  the  sign  that  you  go  now.  It  is  plain  as  if 
written  on  parchment.  You  will  start  to-night,  my 
boy,  and  God  will  be  with  you.  Hush !  I  hear  the 
hoofs  of  horses!" 

In  the  silence  of  the  night  the  muffled  beat  of 
galloping  horses  was  heard  from  the  base  of  the 
long  hill.  The  old  man  jumped  to  his  feet.  He 
looked  in  the  direction  of  Sam  Rounds'  horse. 

"Officers  are  coming  I"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 
"  I  will  meet  them.  Remain  here  till  I  return.  Hold 
that  horse  by  the  nose  lest  he  whinny." 

As  John  sprang  to  the  horse's  head,  the  old 
man  vanished  in  the  darkness. 


103 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN 

EXILED 

PETER  BURT  entered  the    rear   door  of    his 
house,  and  was  in  his  room  when  the  tramp 
of  steps  was  heard,  followed  by  loud  knock- 
ing.    The  old  man  waited   awhile,  as   if  dressing. 
He  then  lighted   a  lamp  and  stood  in  the  hallway. 
The  pounding  had  been  repeated  at  intervals,  and 
gruff  voices  were  heard  in  impatient  conversation. 

"Who's  there?"  demanded  the  old  man. 

"Open  the  door  and  be  quick  about  it!"  was 
the  response,  with  a  kick  and  a  pull  at  the  latch. 

"At  this  hour  of  the  night  my  door  opens  to 
none  who  refuse  names  and  errands  ?"  replied  the 
old  man.  "  Go  about  your  business  and  do  not 
disturb  honest  folk!" 

A  mumbled  conference  followed.  Peter  Burt 
placed  the  lamp  on  a  table  and  waited.  A  light 
knock  sounded  at  the  door. 

"Is  this  Peter  Burt?" 

"  I  am  Peter  Burt." 

"We  are  officers  of  the  law,  Mr.  Burt,"  a 
clearer  voice  declared.  uWe  are  after  John  Burt, 
your  grandson,  who  has  killed  a  man." 

"  He  is  not  here,"  was  the  calm  reply. 

"We  must  search  the  house,  Mr.  Burt,"  said 
the  officer.  "  I  warn  you  not  to  resist  the  execu- 
tion of  the  law." 

<:  Have  you  a  warrant  for  his  arrest,  or  a  search 
warrant  ?"  demanded  the  old  man.  "  Show  me  one 

103 


JOHN  BURT 

at  the  window  and  I  will  open  the  door.  If  you 
have  none,  begone,  and  let  me  rest  in  peace." 

Another  conference  followed,  and  the  gruff 
voice  rose  in  anger. 

"Let  us  in,  old  man,"  it  thundered.  "Warrant 
or  no  warrant,  let  us  in,  or  by  God  we'll  pound  your 
door  down  and  take  you  along  with  your  murderin' 
grandson !  " 

"Open  my  door  at  your  peril!"  said  Peter 
Burt  sternly.  "Show  me  your  authority,  and  you 
can  enter  my  house.  I  know  the  law  and  will  de- 
fend my  rights.  This  house  is  my  castle,  and  no 
man  has  ever  entered  it  without  my  consent." 

Growling  threats,  the  men  retired.  In  a  minute 
they  returned,  armed  with  a  log.  Used  as  a  batter- 
ing ram,  it  was  hurled  against  the  heavy  oaken 
door.  For  a  time  the  stout  frame  resisted,  but 
with  a  crash  the  jamb  gave  way  and  the  door  flew 
open.  With  an  oath  and  a  call  to  his  companion, 
the  larger  of  the  two  rushed  in. 

Peter  Burt  stood  behind  the  splintered  door  in 
the  dark  hallway.  As  the  man  crossed  the  thresh- 
old, the  patriarch's  left  arm  flew  out,  and  the 
corded  fingers  gripped  the  reckless  intruder  by  the 
throat.  There  was  a  gurgling  cry  as  the  fingers 
buried  themselves  in  the  flesh.  The  second  man 
hit  the  old  farmer  a  glancing  blow  with  the  butt 
end  of  a  revolver.  With  a  catlike  movement,  Peter 
Burt  wrenched  his  opponent's  forearm.  With  a 
cry  of  pain  the  man  dropped  the  weapon  to  the 
104 


EXILED 

floor.  Before  he  could  guard  himself,  Peter  Burt 
dealt  him  a  hard  blow  on  the  face,  and  gripped 
him  by  the  neck  as  he  reeled  against  the  wall. 

Holding  the  two  men  at  arm's  length,  Peter 
cracked  their  heads  together,  and  then  dragged 
them  into  the  room,  where  the  lamplight  fell  on 
their  faces.  The  protruding  tongue  and  the  blood- 
surged  face  of  the  one  who  had  led  the  charge 
caused  Peter  Burt  to  relax  his  hold,  and  the  man 
fell  limp  to  the  floor.  A  glance  showed  that  his 
companion  was  senseless,  and  the  old  man  stretched 
him  out  on  the  carpet. 

He  looked  up.  John  Burt  stood  in  the  door- 
way. The  noise  of  the  battle  had  reached  him, 
and,  disobeying  orders,  he  had  run  to  his  grand- 
father's assistance. 

"  Stay  outside,  John !  "  said  Peter  Burt  with  a 
grim  smile.  "  You  must  not  resist  an  officer.  I 
will  be  with  you  in  a  few  minutes.  Don't  be 
alarmed ;  they're  not  badly  hurt." 

There  came  to  John's  mind,  as  he  waited  in 
the  darkness,  the  legends  of  his  grandsire's  prow- 
ess in  the  days  of  his  prime.  He  remembered 
hearing  that  Peter  Burt  had  been  waylaid  by  ten 
men,  and  that  with  his  hands  and  fists  he  had 
stunned  and  maimed  them,  heaping  them  like  cord' 
wood  by  the  side  of  the  road.  Yet  to  John  he  was 
tender  as  a  woman,  and  in  all  their  years  in  the 
old  house  his  grandsire's  hand  had  never  been 
raised  in  anger  against  another 

105 


JOHN  BURT 

Peter  Burt  produced  a  coil  of  rope  from  a 
closet,  and  with  the  dexterity  of  a  sailor  bound  the 
senseless  men.  He  searched  their  pockets  for 
weapons,  and  then  proceeded  to  revive  them.  A 
liberal  application  of  cold  water,  followed  by  an 
inhalation  of  smelling-salts,  produced  the  desired 
effect,  and  the  men  struggled  back  to  conscious- 
ness. 

"  I  have  not  gagged  you,"  said  Peter  Burt,  as 
he  stood  over  them,  "  for  the  reason  that  your  cries 
would  bring  you  no  assistance,  and  for  the  second 
reason  that  you  are  men  of  sufficient  intelligence 
not  to  speak  again  until  you  are  spoken  to.  As 
soon  as  convenient,  I  will  give  you  more  comfort- 
able quarters.  Now  that  you  are  here,  you  may 
spend  the  night  with  me." 

Seating  himself  at  a  desk,  Peter  Burt  wrote 
two  letters,  and  sealed  them.  He  then  opened  a 
huge,  iron-bound  chest,  and  for  half  an  hour  was 
busy  with  its  contents.  He  was  as  cool  as  if  casting 
up  unimportant  accounts.  When  his  work  was 
ended,  he  quitted  the  room  without  so  much  as  a 
glance  at  the  silent  figures  on  the  floor.  John  met 
him  at  the  gateway. 

"  Here  are  your  instructions,  John,"  he  said. 
"  Go  to  your  room  and  select  such  trifles  as  you  can 
carry  in  your  saddle-bags.  You  must  make  Plymouth 
before  daybreak,  and  it  will  be  a  hard  ride  when  the 
storm  breaks.  You  know  every  foot  of  the  way. 
Take  the  back  road  and  keep  away  from  the  vil- 

106 


EXILED 

lages.  This  letter  is  addressed  to  a  man  in  Plymouth. 
Here  is  a  ring.  Show  him  this  ring  with  the  letter. 
Stay  in  his  house  all  day,  and  start  for  New  Bedford 
about  ten  o'clock  to-morrow  night.  You  must 
arrive  in  New  Bedford  before  daybreak,  and  go  to 
the  address  on  this  second  letter.  When  you  find  it 
show  Captain  Horton  the  letter  and  the  ring.  He 
will  put  you  on  board  the  Segregansett,  which  sails 
for  the  South  Pacific  in  three  days  from  now.  This 
third  package  you  will  not  examine  until  well  at  sea. 
Here  is  money.  Enter  the  house  and  make  no 
unnecessary  noise.  I  will  saddle  your  horse  and 
wait  at  the  barn." 

The  sky  was  aflame  with  lightning  as  John 
stood  once  more  by  the  old  man's  side.  The  rum- 
ble of  thunder  told  of  the  near  approach  of  the 
tempest.  \ 

"John,"  said  Peter  Burt  as  he  grasped  the 
boy's  hand  in  his,  u  I  feel  no  sorrow  save  the  pain  of 
a  temporary  parting.  This  was  decreed  by  One 
wiser  than  ourselves.  I  shall  see  you  again,  my  boy ; 
I  shall  clasp  your  hand  in  the  vigor  of  your  man- 
hood, when  success  has  crowned  your  efforts,  and 
when  your  happiness  is  complete.  Though  I  have 
lived  long  past  the  allotted  span,  the  scroll  of  my 
days  is  not  yet  numbered.  Do  not  write  to  me  or 
attempt  to  communicate  with  me,  or  with  any  one, 
until  you  are  rich  and  strong  enough  to  meet  your 
enemies  on  equal  ground.  You  have  the  love  of  a 
woman  I  respect.  She  will  wait  for  you.  Do  not 


JOHN  BURT 

let  the  impatience  of  your  love  imperil  your  chances. 
I  speak  with  authority  when  I  say  these  things  to 
you.  During  these  coming  years,  let  money  be 
your  ambition.  You  live  in  an  age  when  money  is 
the  god  of  the  material  world.  Understanding  has 
been  granted  to  you,  and  when  you  apply  yourself 
to  the  struggle  the  thrill  of  knowledge  will  pervade 
you.  '  A  prudent  man  concealeth  knowledge ;  the 
heart  of  fools  proclaimeth  foolishness,'  says  Solomon. 
Keep  your  own  counsel,  John,  and  '  buy  truth  and 
sell  it  not.'  You  have  received  a  ken  of  this  world's 
affairs,  so  that  I  can  say  to  you  in  the  language  of 
Isaiah:  'I  will  give  thee  the  treasures  of  darkness 
and  the  hidden  riches  of  secret  places.'  Rest  secure 
in  that  promise,  have  abiding  faith  in  it,  and  hold  no 
communication  with  those  who  love  you  until  my 
prophecy  has  come  to  pass.  Do  you  promise  me, 
my  boy?" 

"  I  do,  grandfather !  "  said  John,  who  was  deeply 
affected.  "You  have  been  so  good " 

"Never  mind,  my  boy;  thank  God,  not  me. 
Good-bye,  John — God  bless  you  !  " 

The  first  drops  of  the  storm  pattered  on  the 
dusty  roadway  as  the  old  man  raised  his  hands  and 
gave  John  his  blessing.  Springing  into  the  saddle, 
the  boy  caught  one  last  glimpse  of  Peter  Burt  in  a 
brilliant  flash  of  lightning  which  glorified  his  heroic 
figure,  his  white  hair  shining  as  a  halo  above  his 
brow.  The  trees  guarding  the  old  graveyard  swayed 
in  the  first  gust  of  the  tempest.  John  put  spurs  to 
i  og 


EXILED 

his  horse  and   fared   forward   on  the  wings  of  the 
gale. 

A  strange  exhilaration  tingled  in  the  young 
man's  veins  as  he  swept  along  in  the  swirling 
embrace  of  the  storm.  There  stole  over  him  an 
exaltation,  a  sense  of  buoyant  freedom,  and  a  thrill 
of  power  which  was  intoxicating.  The  crashing 
artillery  of  the  heavens ;  the  tangled  skeins  of  light- 
ning; the  roar  of  the  wind;  the  bending  pines,  dim 
seen  through  lines  of  rain  in  the  fitful  glare;  the 
swift  shifting  panorama  as  the  horse  leaped  to  the 
spur — such  was  the  stage  setting  of  which  John  Burt 
felt  himself  the  central  figure.  The  little  New 
England  district  in  which  he  had  played  so  dull  a 
part  already  faded  beneath  the  horizon,  and  the 
greater  world  reared  its  heights,  beckoning  him  to 
come  and  conquer.  And  of  that  tnew  and  grander 
world  Jessie  was  the  heroine — her  bright  smile 
encouraging  him  to  victory. 

It  was  four  o'clock  when  he  halted  at  a  small 
house  on  the  outskirts  of  Plymouth.  Years  before, 
with  Peter  Burt,  he  had  visited  the  old  sailor  who 
was  spending  there  his  declining  years.  After 
repeated  knocking,  the  old  man  opened  the  door. 
John  handed  him  the  letter  and  showed  the  ring. 
He  read  the  letter  and  heartily  greeted  his  guest. 

"  Enough  said,  my  boy  !  "  he  declared,  as  he 
burned  the  letter.  "  You'll  be  as  safe  here  as  in 
God's  pocket.  Make  yourself  comfortable  and  I'll 
stow  away  your  horse." 

109 


JOHN  BURT 

When  the  old  man  returned  he  prepared  a 
breakfast  which  John  ate  with  relish,  and  then  his 
host  showed  him  to  a  bed  which,  though  hard, 
seemed  the  most  delightful  place  he  had  found  in 
years.  The  sun  was  low  when  John  woke.  After 
supper — breakfast  to  John — the  old  sailor  spun 
yarns  of  the  sea,  though  Peter  Burt  did  not  figure 
in  any  of  these  narratives.  He  did  not  betray  the 
slightest  curiosity  concerning  John's  journey,  and 
at  ten  o'clock  his  guest  bade  him  farewell  with  sin- 
cere thanks  for  his  hospitality. 

The  night  ride  to  New  Bedford  was  made  with- 
out incident.  It  was  three  o'clock  when  John 
knocked  at  Captain  Horton's  door;  and,  much  to 
his  surprise,  that  gruff  old  mariner  was  up  and 
dressed. 

:^v»-  "Come  in  I  I've  been  expectin' ye !  "  he  said 
as  he  opened  the  door.  "  Glad  to  meet  ye.  Joe," 
he  said,  turning  to  a  sleepy-eyed  boy,  "take  care  of 
this  lad's  horse." 

John  secured  the  contents  of  the  saddle-bags, 
and  an  hour  later  stepped  on  board  the  Segregan- 
sett.  Captain  Horton  showed  him  his  quarters 
ind  advised  him  to  "  turn  in."  He  did  so,  and 
when  he  awoke  the  heaving  and  groaning  of  the 
old  whaler  told  him  that  she  was  on  the  open  sea. 

John  Burt  lay  in  his  bunk  in  that  deliciously 
languid  state  which  follows  deep,  refreshing  sleep. 
Against  the  background  of  boyish  years  the  events 
of  recent  hours  stood  forth  vividly. 

no 


EXILED 

A  light  rap  sounded  on  the  door.  He  opened 
it,  and  was  greeted  by  Captain  Horton. 

"  Haow  air  ye,  me  boy?"  exclaimed  the  broad- 
shouldered  skipper.  "  Dinner'll  be  ready  in  a  jiffy; 
if  ye've  slept  enough,  throw  on  yer  togs  and  have  a 
bite!" 

"Thank  you,  Captain  Horton,"  said  John.  "I 
shall  be  ready  in  a  minute,  and  promise  justice  to 
your  dinner." 

It  was  one  o'clock  when  he  came  on  deck.  The 
day  was  clear  and  bright,  and  the  Segregansett  was 
running  south  with  all  canvas  set  in  the  twenty  knot 
breeze.  In  the  northeast  the  peaceful  hills  of 
Martha's  Vineyard  rolled  blue  on  the  horizon,  while 
to  the  west  the  black  cliffs  of  Block  Island  reared 
defiantly.  On  the  ocean's  edge,  to  the  north,  a  dim 
bank  showed  dreaded  Point  Judith.  John  Burt 
gazed  fondly  at  these  stern  sentinels  of  New  Eng- 
land's coast,  and  wondered  when  he  would  see  them 
again.  Before  dusk  the  last  trace  of  land  faded 
from  sight. 

Not  until  the  Segregansett  had  left  the  Ber- 
mudas did  John  open  the  package  which  had  been 
given  to  him  by  Peter  Burt.  It  contained  a  long 
letter  from  the  old  man,  describing  a  spot  in  the 
California  mountains,  of  which  a  dying  sailor  had 
told  him  years  before.  The  poor  fellow  declared 
that  he  had  found  a  rich  deposit  of  gold,  and  that 
he  was  working  his  way  back  to  Boston,  hoping  to 
interest  the  necessary  capital.  In  Peter  Burt's  letter 

in 


JOHN  BURT 

was  enclosed  a  rough  map  which  the  sailor  had 
sketched  when  he  realized  that  death  stood  in  the 
way  of  his  dreams  of  wealth. 

There  was  also  a  parcel  with  an  outer  covering 
of  oilskin.  John  unwrapped  it  and  disclosed  a 
large,  old-fashioned  wallet,  which  he  recognized  as 
having  belonged  to  his  grandfather.  Years  of  use 
had  worn  its  sides  to  a  gloss  which  no  art  can  imi- 
tate. In  this  wallet  he  found  a  layer  of  United 
States  Treasury  notes  of  large  denominations.  His 
fingers  tingled  as  he  handled  the  notes.  Ten  thous- 
and dollars!  He  counted  them  again  and  again; 
not  as  a  miser  counts  his  gold,  but  with  the  eager- 
ness of  an  ambitious  man  who  gazes  for  the  first 
time  on  the  paper  weapons  of  modern  warfare. 
Jessie  seemed  much  nearer  as  John  looked  at  those 
bits  of  paper. 

There  was  no  memorandum  in  the  wallet  or  in 
the  letter  in  reference  to  this  money.  John  knew 
that  no  such  sum  had  been  realized  from  his  father's 
estate.  He  knew  little  of  Peter  Burt's  wealth,  but 
he  was  proud  to  think  that  he  was  deemed  worthy 
to  be  intrusted  with  so  large  a  sum. 

The  scenes  and  incidents  of  that  eighteen  thous- 
and mile  journey  around  Cape  Horn  are  worthy  of 
extended  recital,  but  are  not  an  essential  part  of 
this  narrative.  One  bright  afternoon  the  Segregan- 
sett  sailed  into  the  harbor  of  Valparaiso,  and  a  week 
later  John  Burt  was  a  passenger  on  the  steamer 
Reliance,  bound  for  San  Francisco. 

112 


EXILED 

A  thousand  leagues  away,  Jessie  Garden  treas- 
ured the  secret  of  a  sensation  strangely  akin  to  new- 
born love.  As  the  days  sped  away  which  meant 
safety  to  John  Burt,  her  spirits  rose.  He  had  van- 
ished out  of  her  life,  but  her  faith  in  his  innocence, 
and  in  his  success  and  triumphant  return,  was  strong 
and  abiding. 

On  the  walls  of  her  class-room  was  a  large  map, 
and  she  loved  to  look  at  it  and  wonder  what  spot  of 
land  or  sea  held  John  Burt.  Something  told  her 
that  he  was  on  the  ocean,  and  she  found  pleasure  in 
following  his  possible  course  through  the  tropics, 
across  the  equator,  past  stormy  Cape  Horn,  and  up 
the  South  American  coast  to  California. 

In  the  little  college  town  there  lived  an  old  sea 
captain,  who  kept  a  small  candy  and  stationery 
store ;  and  Jessie  became  his  regula/r  customer.  To 
the  delight  of  this  ancient  mariner,  she  betrayed 
keen  interest  in  tales  of  the  sea.  She  asked  many 
questions,  which  he  answered,  adding  long  narra- 
tives of  experiences  in  "  rounding  the  Horn,"  and 
of  cruises  in  southern  seas. 

Thus,  in  fancy,  Jessie  accompanied  John  on 
his  long  journey,  until  a  day  came  when  she  felt  that 
he  was  in  California,  and  that  he  had  begun  a  strug- 
gle for  his  fortune — perhaps  for  her  fortune.  She 
smiled  proudly  when  this  thought  came  to  her. 

She  pictured  John  Burt  in  the  rugged  wilds, 
and  saw  his  handsome  face  and  stalwart  form  against 
the  background  of  snow-capped  mountains.  She 


JOHN  BURT 

saw  him  amid  dangers;  saw  him  suffering  privations 
— and  all  for  her.  Every  printed  line  concerning 
the  land  of  gold  was  associated  in  some  way  with 
John  Burt. 

Cupid  had  stolen  upon  her  in  the  night.  He 
had  fired  an  arrow  and  fled.  She  felt  the  delicious 
tingle  of  the  wound  in  her  heart,  and  wondered  if  it 
was  love. 

Perchance,  again,  the  great  world  into  which 
John  Burt  had  vanished  held  for  him  a  destiny  in 
which  she  bore  no  part.  The  dark  veil  which  fate 
draws  over  the  future  yielded  not  to  her  small 
fingers.  Love  and  hope  ask  a  thousand  questions 
which  time  alone  can  answer. 


CHAPTER  TWELVE 

SAMUEL    LEMUEL    ROUNDS 


Roundses  don't  run  much  tew  ancestry, 
_L  I  reckon;  leastwise  our  end  on  'em  don't," 
Sam  Rounds  had  explained  to  John  Burt 
on  one  occasion.  u  Course  I've  got  a  lot  of  ances- 
tors back  somewhar,  but  who'n  thunder  they  are, 
blamed  'f  I  know!  When  the  old  house  in  Reho- 
both  burned  up  some  forty  odd  year  ago  the  family 
Bible  went  with  it,  an'  our  ancestral  tree  was  pulled 
up  by  the  roots.  There  must  'er  been  a  red-haired 
Rounds  sometime  or  nother,  else  heow  dew  ye 
account  fer  me?" 

Students  of  heredity  must  regret  the  Rehoboth 
conflagration,  since  it  destroyed  the  last  evidence  in 
what  would  have  been  an  interesting  research. 
Among  the  numerous  branches  'of  the  Rounds 
family  Sam  was  sui  generis.  In  appearance,  traits 
and  temperament  he  was  no  more  like  his  near  rela- 
tives than  is  a  young  hawk  to  a  brood  of  chickens. 

It  is  reasonably  well  established  that  a  Rounds 
settled  in  Rehoboth  fully  one  hundred  years  before 
Sam  was  born,  but  the  latter's  recollection  did  not 
extend  back  of  his  father  —  one  Hiram  Rounds.  The 
annals  of  Hiram  Rounds  and  his  family  can  be 
epitomized  in  one  word  —  work. 

There  is  a  type  of  New  England  farmer  to  whom 
physical  labor  is  a  religion,  a  passion  and  a  mania. 
The  virus  of  toil  inoculated  in  the  blood  of  the 
Puritans  had  been  transmitted  to  them  —  intensified 

"5 


JOHN  BURT 

by  successions  of  drudging  generations.  Born  of 
moiling  parents  who  have  known  no  world  other 
than  New  England's  rock-strewn  fields  and  shrub- 
topped  hills,  certain  of  her  children  have  successively 
taken  up  the  struggle  for  a  mean  existence.  Those 
upon  whom  the  curse  was  not  laid  have  escaped  to 
the  fertile  prairies  of  the  West  or  to  the  profitable 
activities  of  the  cities.  The  record  of  their  suc- 
cesses and  the  story  of  their  triumphs  arouse  small 
envy  in  the  breasts  of  those  who  remain  behind, 
content  to  wring  a  pitiful  harvest  from  a  stubborn 
soil. 

41  Dad  believed  in  work  an'  lots  of  it,"  explained 
Sam.  "  He  looked  like  an  old  man  when  I  first 
knew  him,  an'  he  wa'nt  so  old  at  that — only  about 
forty  when  I  was  a  kid  of  six  or  seven.  Summer  an' 
winter  he  was  up  at  half-past  four,  an'  you  can  bet 
the  rest  on  us  got  up  with  him.  We  had  a  hired 
man  once,  but  he  didn't  stay  very  long.  The  old 
man  routed  him  outer  bed  at  four  o'clock  one 
Monday  mornin' — leastwise,  so  I'm  told. 

444  Git  up,  ye  lazy,  ornary  hound!'  says  dad. 
4 Do  ye  want  to  sleep  all  day?  Here  'tis  Monday, 
an'  ter-morrow's  Teusday  an'  next  day's  Wednesday 
— with  ther  week  half  gone,  an'  not  a  darned  thing 
done.  Git  up,  an'  mow  that  air  medder! ' 

"Dad  shorely  was  er  hard  worker  an'  no  mis- 
take," continued  Sam,  having  settled  the  much-dis- 
puted authorship  of  that  New  England  legend. 
"When  thar  wa'nt  no  work  tew  dew  on  our  farm. 

116 


SAMUEL      LEMUEL      ROUNDS 

he'd  hire  out  tew  ther  neighbors  fer  fifty  er  seventy- 
five  cents  er  day.  And  at  night  we'd  all  shave 
hoops  after  supper,  working  'til  nine  an'  sometimes 
ten  o'clock.  In  the  winter  dad  would  haul  logs  tew 
Newport.  He  had  two  relays  of  Bosses,  an'  he'd 
make  the  trip  an'  back  without  sleepiri' — forty-eight 
or  more  hours  at  a  stretch.  Lots  er  times  I've 
knowed  him  work  till  midnight,  mowin'  er  loggin', 
an'  he'd  be  up  at  four  next  mornin'.  Every  one 
used  ter  brag  how  hard  they  could  work,  but  they 
all  took  off  their  hats  tew  dad.  He  shorely  was 
the  champion  worker  'round  Rehoboth.  Lots  er 
strong  young  fellers  came  up  from  Attleboro  and 
tried  to  mow  a  swath  with  dad,  but  he  bushed  all 
on  'em." 

"  Killing  himself  to  live,"  mused  John  Burt. 

"  Wall,  I  reckon  he  did — leastwise  Doc  Rey- 
nolds 'lowed  so.  Dad  died  when  he  was  forty- 
eight.  He  teamed  all  night  three  nights  running 
workin'  out  the  poll-tax  fer  the  neighbors,  an'  he 
had  'er  stroke.  Doc  warned  him  then  tew  let  up  'er 
bit,  but  dad  just  somehow  couldn't,  and  he  pitched 
in  ergain.  He  was  shinglin'  ther  roof  of  ther  barn, 
erbout  eleven  o'clock  one  night,  an'  I  guess  he  had 
ernother  stroke.  The  doctor  couldn't  exactly  tell 
whether  he  had  er  stroke,  er  whether  he  fell  off  and 
broke  his  neck,  er  both — enyhow  he  was  dead  when 
they  picked  him  up.  I  wasn't  home  at  ther  time—  I 
was  in  Fall  River  workin'  in  the  mills.  When  us 
young  ones  got  tew  be  twelve  years  old  most  on  us 

117 


JOHN  BURT 

was  packed  off  an'  set  tew  work  in  ther  cotton 
mills  er  in  the  match  factories.  Five  of  my  sisters 
worked  in  ther  cotton  mills.  Nowadays  ther  workin' 
men  are  talkin'  erbout  er  ten-hour  day,  an'  some  on 
'em  is  strikin'  fer  an'  eight-hour  day.  My  sisters 
an'  thousands  of  other  girls  used  tew  work  from 
six  o'clock  in  ther  mornin'  till  nine  at  night,  an' 
they  was  mighty  glad  tew  git  ther  chance.  Where 
air  my  sisters  now?  Two  on  'em  is  dead,  two 
married,  and  one's  in  an  asylum." 

This  recital  of  the  history  of  the  Rounds  fam- 
ily occurred  shortly  before  the  incidents  related  in 
the  preceding  chapter.  Sam  was  a  great  admirer 
of  John  Burt,  and  though  habitually  reticent  con- 
cerning his  personal  affairs,  did  not  hesitate  to 
make  John  his  confidant.  The  latter  recognized 
in  Sam  sterling  traits  which  escaped  the  ordinary 
observer.  Five  years  before,  Sam  had  purchased  a 
small  farm  near  Hingham,  and  had  devoted  it  to 
the  breeding  and  raising  of  horses.  The  success 
of  this  venture  had  aroused  the  sluggish  jealousy  of 
neighboring  farmers,  who  frowned  on  innovations 
and  predicted  the  ultimate  failure  of  Sam's  enter- 
prise. 

"  I've  done  fairly  middlin'  well,  but  I  want  tew 
dew  better,"  Sam  said.  "None  of  the  Roundses 
ever  amounted  tew  nothin',  an'  I'm  going  tew  try 
tew  break  er  record.  I  never  had  much  schoolin', 
but  I  wasn't  sixteen  years  old  when  I  larned  that  no 
man  can  git  rich  on  a  pesky  little  New  England 

118 


SAMUEL      LEMUEL      ROUNDS 

farm.  An'  I've  found  out  another  thing,  John,  no 
man  can  git  rich  by  his  own  work.  He  must  either 
git  others  tew  work  fer  him  'an  pay  'em  wages — 
smaller  the  better,  of  course — er  else  he  must  buy 
and  sell  things  fer  profit.  Shore,  he  might  dis- 
cover a  gold  mine,  but  tew  my  thinkin'  that's  much 
in  ther  way  of  gamblin'.  But,  as  I  said,  nobody 
can  git  rich  on  wages,  nor  by  farmin'  er  loggin' 
'round  here.  I  don't  reckon  I'm  mean  enough  tew 
run  a  factory  or  a  shop,  so  I've  gone  inter  tradin'. 
I  knows  bosses  an'  likes  'em,  an'  they  likes  me. 
An'  I've  done  fairly  middlin'  well."  Sam's  eyes 
twinkled  shrewdly. 

"  You  never  told  me  how  you  made  your  start, 
Sam,"  John  said,  taking  advantage  of  his  friend's 
reminiscent  mood. 

"  Reckon  I  never  would  got  started  if  I  had 
tew  depend  on  wages,"  reflected  Sam.  "Worked  in 
er  shop  in  Providence  fer  three  years  an'  saved  up 
er  hundred  dollars.  Then  dad  died  an'  left  me 
part  of  ther  old  farm.  I  sold  out  fer  six  hundred. 
Went  up  ter  Vermont  and  bought  some  hosses  an' 
brought  'em  back  an'  sold  'em.  As  I  said,  I  knows 
a  horse  better'n  he  knows  hisself.  Then  I  kept  on 
buyin'  an'  sellin'  'em.  When  I  had  enough  money 
I  bought  that  air  strip  of  land  I  own  now,  and 
I've  been  thare  ever  since.  Good  land  fer  hosses, 
an'  that's  all  'tis  good  fer.  I've  got  er  hundred 
head  of  good  road  hosses  and  four  er  five  trot 
ters,  an'  as  many  runnin'  hosses.  I've  been  down 

119 


JOHN  BURT 

ter  New  York,  lookin'  it  over,  an'  have  erbout 
decided  ter  locate  thare.  That's  er  great  town, 
John,  an'  I  knows  more  erbout  hosses  than  most 
on  'em  down  that-a-way.  What  dew  ye  think 
erbout  it,  John?  Dew  ye  think  I'd  better  try 
it,  er  let  well-enough  alone?  They  say,  ye  know, 
as  heow  er  rollin'  stone  gathers  no  moss,  but 
I  don't  want  ter  get  mossy.  Rollin'  'round  sorter 
polishes  ye  up,  and  makes  ye  smooth,  an'  I  don't 
go  much  on  proverbs,  noheow.  What  do  ye  think 
erbout  it,  John?" 

Sam  looked  anxiously  into  the  face  of  his 
friend. 

"  I  should  go,"  said  John  Burt  decisively. 
"  There's  a  fortune  waiting  for  you  in  New  York, 
Sam.  Go,  by  all  means." 

This  settled  it  with  Sam.  A  month  after  the 
Segregansett  sailed  away  with  John  Burt,  a  Provi- 
dence steamer  carried  Sam  Rounds  and  fifty  care- 
fully selected  horses  to  New  York.  Since  the  death 
of  his  father  Sam  had  provided  for  his  mother,  who 
lived  with  him  in  a  well-built  house  on  his  Hingham 
stock  farm.  Next  to  his  horses  his  great  mission 
in  life  was  to  restrain  this  estimable  woman  from 
working.  Like  others  of  her  class  she  was  born 
with  her  feet  on  the  treadmill,  and  when  Sam  shat- 
tered that  instrument  of  torture  Mrs.  Rounds  was 
first  dismayed  and  then  dazed.  Life  without  a 
ceaseless  round  of  exhausting  toil  was  something 
beyond  her  comprehension. 

120 


SAMUEL      LEMUEL      ROUNDS 

Mrs.  Rounds  was  a  faded  little  woman  who  had 
reached  her  threescore  of  years.  She  looked  frail, 
but  was  seemingly  incapable  of  physical  fatigue. 
She  had  reared  a  family  of  ten  children,  and  for 
more  than  forty  years  had  averaged  sixteen  hours  of 
work  a  day.  Her  girlhood  was  spent  in  a  factory, 
and  her  honeymoon  in  a  kitchen. 

Her  past  was  a  blur  of  trouble  and  of  toil. 
Crying  children,  with  ever-recurring  attacks  of 
croup,  measles  and  fevers,  the  heat  and  odors  of  a 
kitchen,  six  solid  years  of  wash-days,  cows  milked 
morning  and  night,  clothes  fashioned  and  mended, 
floors  swept,  beds  made,  fruit  preserved,  apples 
dried,  clothes  to  be  hung  on  lines  in^the  bitter  cold 
of  winter,  school  lunches  prepared  for  the  children, 
whippings  administered,  the  occasional  harsh  tem- 
per of  a  husband  to  be  appeased  or  endured — forty 
years  of  ceaseless  labor  and  care,  intensified  at 
periods  by  the  birth,  illness  and  death  of  children, 
and  crowned  at  last  by  the  loss  of  the  partner  of 
her  slavery — such  had  been  the  life-story  of  Mary 
Rounds. 

When  Sam  was  able  to  build  a  house  he  de- 
clared that  it  should  be  his  mother's  home.  He 
registered  a  vow  that  she  should  do  no  more  work. 
Mrs.  Rounds  had  gone  to  live  with  one  of  her  mar- 
ried daughters,  and  there  Sam  found  her.  Her 
position  was  that  of  a  nurse  and  maid-of-all-work 
serving  without  pay  or  praise.  She  had  taken  on 
her  bowed  old  shoulders  the  care  of  a  second  gen- 

•  121 


JOHN  BURT 

eration  of  Roundses.  Four  cross  grandchildren, 
reinforced  by  newly-arrived  and  vociferous  twins, 
had  been  confided  to  her  care.  At  the  age  of  sixty 
she  had  begun  anew  the  harsher  part  of  the  task 
assumed  at  twenty.  To  the  evident  disgust  of  his1 
sister,  Sam  bore  the  old  lady  triumphantly  away. 
Mrs.  Rounds  had  obeyed  orders  all  her  life,  and 
Sam  being  the  oldest  of  her  children,  she  did  not 
hesitate  to  acknowledge  his  authority. 

"There's  lots  of  work  to  do  here,  Samuel," 
said  Mrs.  Rounds,  a  shade  of  regret  in  her  quiet 
voice  when  Sam  delivered  his  ultimatum.  "There's 
lots  of  work  here,  and  Sallie  isn't  very  strong" — 
the  daughter  referred  to  weighed  one  hundred  and 
eighty  pounds  and  had  whipped  the  hired  man — 
"  but  you  know  best,  Samuel,  an'  I'll  go  with  you." 
And  she  did. 

The  good  old  lady  was  astonished  and  a  bit 
dismayed  when  she  examined  the  modest  house  Sam 
had  erected. 

"This  is  a  nice  place,"  she  said — pride  of  her 
son  and  hereditary  caution  struggling  for  mastery. 
"It  must  ha'  cost  a  lot  of  money.  I'm  afraid 
you're  reckless  and  extravagant,  Samuel.  That  picket- 
fence,  an'  that  there  piazzer,  and  them  green  shut- 
ters must  cost  like  everything.  Don't  be  extrava- 
gant, Samuel.  It's  a  besetting  sin." 

4  There  ain't  no  commandment  agin  it ;  least- 
wise I  never  saw  none  in  the  Bible,"  said  Sam,  who 
was  a  perpetual  mystery  to  his  mother.  "To  my 

IM 


SAMUEL      LEMUEL      ROUNDS 

way  of  thinkin',  extravagance  is  erbout  the  only 
thing  worth  livin'  fer.  I  aims  ter  be  the  most  ex- 
travagant chap  ever  turned  outer  Rocky  Woods." 

The  reproving  look  on  his  mother's  face  van- 
ished when  Sam  threw  his  strong  arms  around  her 
and  kissed  her  with  a  resounding  smack.  They  en- 
tered the  house,  and  Sam  escorted  his  mother  to  a 
cozy  room  and  told  her  that  it  was  her  own.  She 
looked  at  the  tasteful  furniture,  the  snowy  linen, 
the  bright  rugs,  and  the  pictures,  and  tears  stood 
in  her  eyes. 

"  This  is  too  good  for  me,  Samuel,"  she  said, 
holding  his  hands  and  looking  fondly  into  his  eyes. 
"  But  you  must  be  hungry.  I'll  change  my  dress 
and  get  dinner.  Where's  the  kitchen,  Samuel?'' 

"  Never  mind  erbout  the  kitchen,"  said  Sam. 
"  There  ain't  no  kitchen  fer  you.  Dinner's  all 
ready,  anyhow.  Come  on,  Ma  Rounds.  I'll  show 
ye  the  cutest  dinin'-room  ye  ever  sot  yer  eyes  on." 

It  was  a  pretty  dining-room.  A  broad  bay 
window,  framed  with  morning  glories,  looked  out 
on  a  well-kept  lawn.  An  oaken  sideboard,  with 
heavy  brass  trimmings  and  a  French-plate  mirror, 
was  resplendent  with  silverware.  The  table  was 
decorated  with  flowers,  and  the  table  linen  was 
flawless.  To  the  old  farmwife  these  modest  com- 
forts realized  her  dreams  of  prodigality.  With  the 
exception  of  Squire  Walker,  no  farmer  near  or  in 
Rehoboth  owned  a  house  with  a  dining-room  separ- 
ated from  a  kitchen. 

113 


JOHN  BURT 

Sam  touched  a  bell,  and  a  trim,  white-aproned 
maid  responded.  She  placed  a  tureen  in  front  of 
the  master  of  the  house,  and  moved  noiselessly 
away.  Mrs.  Rounds  gazed  searchingly,  first  at  the 
young  woman  and  then  at  Sam.  She  said  nothing, 
however,  but  bowing  her  head  offered  a  fervent 
blessing,  which  was  more  of  a  prayer  than  the  usual 
formal  invocation. 

"  Seems  like  old  times  tew  have  you  offer  a 
blessin',"  said  Sam,  as  he  served  his  mother  a  por- 
tion of  the  savory  soup.  "  I  must  tell  you  erbout 
old  man  Carter,  down  tew  Hingham — the  head  of 
the  firm  of  Carter  &  Company.  He's  a  great 
business  man,  an'  shrewder'n  a  mink.  A  while  ago 
he  got  religion  an'  joined  the  Methodist  church. 
The  other  day  he  asked  the  preacher  tew  dinner, 
an'  when  they  was  all  sot  down  he  motioned  ther 
preacher  tew  ask  a  blessin'." 

'"You  ask  a  blessin',  Brother  Carter,'  said  the 
preacher,  who  wasn't  any  too  sure  that  the  new  con- 
vert was  really  saved. 

"  This  sorter  staggered  old  Carter  for  a  minute, 
but  he's  game  as  a  pebble.  He  never  had  asked  a 
blessin',  but  he  was  a  good  business  man  and  great 
on  correspondence,  an'  he  warn't  afraid.  An'  here 
is  what  he  said  : 

"'Thankin'  Thee,  O  Lord,  for  this  food  and 
for  Thy  many  blessings,  we  remain,  very  respect- 
fully, yours.' ' 

"You  made  that  story  up,  Samuel,"  said  Mrs. 
124 


SAMUEL     LEMUEL      ROUNDS 

Rounds,  who  could  not  repress  a  smile.  "  Who  is 
that  woman?"  she  asked  in  a  whisper. 

"  Her  name  is  Mrs.  Fletcher.  She's  the  house- 
keeper here.  She's  a  widow  lady,  an'  a  mighty 
good  woman." 

"Of  course  you'll  let  her  go  now,"  his  mother 
said,  when  the  housekeeper  had  served  a  roast  of 
lamb,  a  dish  of  green  peas,  browned  potatoes  and 
some  tender  cabbage.  "  I  can  do  the  cookin'  an' 
all  the  work  here  now.  What  do  you  pay  her, 
Samuel?" 

"  Seven  dollars  a — a  month,"  said  Sam,  who 
preferred  the  falsehood  rather  than  the  confession 
of  the  appalling  truth  that  Mrs.  Fletcher  received 
that  amount  per  week.  "  She's  an  awful  good 
cook,  Ma." 

Sam  loved  his  mother,  but  ten  years  of  life 
away  from  the  old  farm,  with  frequent  sojourns  in 
hotels  in  Boston,  Newport,  New  York,  and  other 
centers  of  civilization,  had  dulled  his  appreciation 
of  the  Rehoboth  cuisine.  He  yet  retained  a  vivid 
recollection  of  occasional  beefsteaks,  thin  cut  from 
an  aged  and  recently  slaughtered  cow,  fried  with  a 
piece  of  tallow,  until  the  product  resembled  in  taste 
and  texture  the  hide  of  that  unfortunate  animal. 

He  recalled  the  winter  breakfasts  of  dried 
herrings,  greasy  fried  potatoes,  and  bread  without 
butter,  the  latter  being  served  only  on  rare  occa- 
sions— it  having  a  market  value.  He  could  still 
taste  and  smell  those  herrings.  Strung  through 

125 


JOHN  BURT 

the  eyes  on  willow  rods,  hundreds  of  them  hung 
under  the  roof  in  the  cramped  and  dusty  old  attic, 
keeping  company  with  hair  trunks,  broken  spin- 
ning-wheels, mink  and  fox  pelts,  and  the  jumbled 
wreckage  of  four  generations  of  Roundses. 

The  perennial  table  luxuries  were  pies  and 
doughnuts,  apple  and  rhubarb  pies  in  summer, 
and  dried-apple  pies  in  winter — with  doughnuts 
forever,  breakfast,  dinner  and  supper.  The  kettle 
of  lard  in  which  they  were  fried  was  as  much  of  a 
fixture  as  was  the  old  well  with  its  sweep  and  its 
cold,  slimy  bucket.  Fresh  fish  were  unknown,  and 
dried  codfish  was  a  tempting  rarity.  Once  a  year, 
in  "hog-killing  time,"  the  family  revelled  for  three 
or  four  days  in  fresh  pork.  No  culinary  crime  can 
entirely  destroy  the  flavor  of  newly-killed  pork. 
The  choicer  parts  were  sent  to  market,  and  the 
meaner  salted  down,  to  be  resurrected  from  the 
brine  at  intervals  in  the  monotony  of  dried  her- 
rings and  corned  beef.  No  escaped  victim  of  New 
England  farm  fare  and  cooking  of  a  generation 
ago  ever  indited  verse  or  prose  to  its  praise. 

"  Seven  dollars  a  month  and  her  keep,"  mused 
Mrs.  Rounds.  "  That  would  be  as  much  as  twelve 
dollars  a  month,  or  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  a 
year,  Samuel.  We  can  save  all  that.  Let  her  go  at 
once,  Samuel,  and  I  will  do  the  work." 

"You'll  do  nothin',  Ma  Rounds,"  said  Sam 
decidedly.  "  You've  worked  nigh  cnto  fifty  years, 
an'  that's  enough.  Now,  I'm  go'in  ter  dew  ther 
126 


SAMUEL      LEMUEL      ROUNDS 

work,  an'  you're  goin'  ter  dew  ther  playin'  an' 
restin'.  Of  course  you  can  sew  an'  boss  ther  girl 
an'  putter  'round  like,  but  you  must  keep  outer 
ther  kitchen,  an'  fergit  that  brooms  ever  was 
made.  Don't  you  worry  erbout  money.  I've  got 
enough  money  ter  keep  both  on  us  er  hundred 
years,  an'  I'm  goin'  ter  have  more." 

The  good  old  mother  made  a  feeble  protest, 
but  Sam  would  not  listen  to  her.  For  a  week  Sam 
remained  home  and  kept  a  close  watch  on  her,  and 
congratulated  himself  on  the  success  of  his  plans. 
Once  he  caught  her  scrubbing  the  front  steps,  and 
on  another  occasion  she  was  detected  chopping 
kindling-wood,  both  of  which  tasks  she  postponed 
on  Sam's  protest.  He  introduced  his  mother  to 
the  neighbors,  and  they  all  liked  the  kindly-faced 
old  lady  and  welcomed  her  to  the  neighborhood. 

Sam  took  his  mother  to  Boston  and  superin- 
tended the  purchase  of  dress  materials,  a  bonnet, 
and  various  articles  of  apparel.  On  this  occasion 
he  was  guilty  of  a  scheme  of  deception  which 
filled  his  soul  with  joy.  He  was  acquainted  with 
Mr.  Farnsworth,  the  merchant,  and  calling  him 
aside  said : 

"  I  want  you  tew  wait  on  mother  an'  me,  yer- 
self,  Mr.  Farnsworth.  Mother  is  the  best  woman 
in  ther  world,  but  she  thinks  I'm  extravagant,  an'  I 
wouldn't  hurt  her  feelins  fer  anything.  Now,  I  tell 
ye  what  ye  can  dew.  When  she  picks  out  a  cheap 
thing,  you  multiply  the  price  by  four  er  five,  an1 

IZ7 


JOHN  BURT 

when  ye  show  her  somethin'  bang-up  an'  good 
enough  fer  a  princess,  put  ther  price  way  down. 
D'ye  understand  ?  An'  when  we  gets  through, 
give  me  the  true  bill  and  show  her  the  other  one, 
an'  I'll  make  it  all  right  fer  yer  trouble.  An'  mind 
ye,  I  want  the  best  in  ther  store  fer  Mother 
Rounds." 

The  merchant  smilingly  agreed  to  this  arrange- 
ment and  entered  heartily  into  the  deception.  Mrs. 
Rounds  had  never  been  in  Boston  until  that  day, 
although  all  her  life  had  been  spent  within  an 
hour's  ride  from  the  New  England  metropolis. 
Occasional  visits  to  the  dry-goods  shops  of  Taun- 
ton  formed  epochs  in  her  life,  and  she  was  dazed  at 
the  contemplation  of  the  sight  before  her.  The 
shelves,  with  their  loads  of  fabrics,  seemed  endless, 
and  she  crouched  behind  a  marble  column  for  fear 
of  being  in  the  way  of  the  chattering,  laughing 
throng  of  shoppers. 

Reassured  by  the  cordial  manner  of  the  pro- 
prietor, she  was  escorted  to  a  counter.  No  stress 
of  poverty  nor  strain  of  heredity  can  entirely 
efface  from  the  heart  of  a  woman  her  love  for  per- 
sonal adornment  and  her  zest  for  bargaining.  This 
was  before  the  day  of  fixed  prices,  and  shopping 
was  then  as  much  a  contest  between  buyer  and 
seller  as  was  the  trading  of  land  or  swapping  erf 
horses. 

"  I  don't  want  much,  Samuel,"  she  whispered, 
as  Mr.  Farnsworth  turned  to  take  down  a  bolt  of 
128 


SAMUEL     LEMUEL      ROUNDS 

dress  goods.  "We  must  be  economical,  Samuel. 
Tell  him  to  show  us  some  ginghams." 

"All  right,  Ma  Rounds;  watch  me  beat  him 
down,"  returned  Sam,  nudging  her  gently  with  his 
elbow. 

"  Here  is  a  stylish  pattern,  Mrs.  Rounds," 
said  Mr.  Farnsworth,  displaying  a  neat  gingham, 
worth  perhaps  ten  cents  a  yard. 

"  How  much  a  yard?"  asked  Sam. 

Mr.  Farnsworth  gravely  consulted  the  cabalistic 
price  mark. 

"  The  regular  price  is  ninety-five  cents  a  yard, 
but,"  lowering  his  voice,  and  glancing  about  to 
make  sure  he  was  not  overheard,  "  I  will  make  it  to 
you  at  eighty  cents." 

"Eighty  cents  a  yard  for  gingham!"  gasped 
Mrs.  Rounds. 

"It's  imported  goods,  Mrs.  Rounds,"  explained 
Mr.  Farnsworth,  critically  stroking  the  print.  "  It 
wears  like  silk.  We  carry  no  domestic  ginghams. 
Here  is  one  at  eighty-five  cents,  and  this  one  is  a 
dollar  and  ten  a  yard.  That  would  make  you  a  fine 
gown,  Mrs.  Rounds." 

"  Let's  go  somewhere  else,  Samuel,"  whispered 
his  mother,  positively  frightened.  "  I  can  buy 
gingham  in  Taunton  for  eight  cents  a  yard." 

"Wait  a  bit,"  said  Sam,  reassuringly.  "What 
have  ye  got  in  silks,  Mr.  Farnsworth  ?  " 

"We  have  a  fine  line  of  silks,"  replied  that  gen- 
tleman, leading  the  way  to  another  counter.  "  I 

129 


JOHN  BURT 

should  recommend  a  heavy  black  gros  grain  silk  for 
Mrs.  Rounds.  We  have  them  at  all  prices.  Here 
is  one  at  a  dollar  and  a  half  a  yard." 

He  displayed  a  silk  worth  at  least  three  dollars 
a  yard.  The  old  lady  looked  fondly  at  the  glossy 
fabric.  The  temptation  was  great,  but  she  closed 
her  lips  firmly  and  put  Satan  behind  her. 

"Too  much,"  said  Sam  decisively.  "We're 
not  rich  ner  proud,  Mr.  Farnsworth.  Show  us  some- 
thin'  cheaper." 

"  Very  well.  Here  is  one  at  a  dollar  a  yard, 
and  here  is  one  which  is  a  bargain."  He  unrolled  a 
superb,  heavy  bolt  of  silk,  lustrous  black  and  a 
delight  to  the  eye.  He  examined  the  price  mark 
critically.  It  told  him  that  the  wholesale  cost  was 
four  dollars  a  yard  and  the  upset  retail  figure  four 
dollars  and  seventy-five  cents. 

"  I  can  let  you  have  that  at  eighty  cents  a  yard," 
he  said  after  a  mental  calculation. 

"Now  ye're  gittin'  down  tew  business,"  Sam 
declared  tentatively.  "  That's  tew  much,  but  it's 
more  like  it.  What  do  you  think  of  the  goods, 
Ma  Rounds?  You'd  look  like  a  four-year  old  in  a 
gown  made  of  that." 

"  It's  very  fine — too  fine  for  me,  I'm  afraid." 
She  was  weakening.  "And  it's  cheap,  if  it's  real 
silk.  Is  it  really  and  truly  silk?"  She  looked 
timidly  at  Mr.  Farnsworth,  who  assured  her  it  was 
silk  beyond  a  doubt. 

"Tell  ye  what  we'll  dew,"  said  Sam.  "How 
130 


SAMUEL      LEMUEL      ROUNDS 

many  yards  does  it  take  fer  a  dress  ?  Fifteen  ?  All 
right.  We'll  give  ye  sixty  cents  a  yard — cash. 
Sixty  cents.  That  will  leave  ye  a  good  profit. 
What  d'ye  say,  Mr.  Farnsworth?  Is  it  a  bargain?" 

"Impossible,"  returned  that  gentleman,  again 
consulting  the  price  mark.  "I'll  make  it  sixty- 
seven  cents,  and  you  can  take  it  or  leave  it  alone." 

Sam  took  his  mother  aside. 

"What  d'ye  say,  ma?  You  know  more  erbout 
silks  'an  I  do." 

"  It's  awful  cheap,  Samuel,"  she  said  weakly. 
"  I  never  heard  of  silk  at  such  a  price.  But  it's 
too  good  for  me.  Let's  go  somewhere  else  and  get 
a  gingham  or  some  half-wool  goods."  But  there 
was  no  insistence  in  her  voice.  The  sheen  of  the 
silk  had  dazzled  her  eyes. 

"  Nothin's  tew  good  fer  you,"  said  Sam  affec- 
tionately. He  turned  to  Mr.  Farnsworth. 

"  Mother  says  she  can't  afford  to  pay  more'n 
sixty-five  cents  a  yard,"  he  said. 

"  All  right,"  groaned  the  merchant.  "  It  eaves 
me  nothing,  but  I'll  do  it  as  a  favor.  Of  course 
you  want  some  black  lace  for  trimmings?" 

"  Sure,"  replied  Sam. 

"  Something  about  twenty-five  cents  a  yard," 
suggested  Mrs.  Rounds.  She  felt  like  one  who, 
having  fallen  from  grace,  decides  to  go  to  perdi- 
tion with  flying  colors.  No  one  in  Rehoboth  ever 
had  possessed  a  black  silk  gown  with  lace  trim- 
mings. 


JOHN  BURT 

"  Here  is  something  at  thirty  cents  a  yard 
which  I  can  honestly  recommend,"  said  Mr.  Farns- 
worth.  He  gave  Sam  a  signal  that  it  was  the  best 
article  in  stock,  and,  though  the  latter  had  little 
knowledge  or  appreciation  of  lace,  he  admired  the 
delicate  and  intricate  pattern.  After  inspecting 
cheaper  qualities,  on  which  Mr.  Farnsworth  fixed 
higher  prices,  Mrs.  Rounds  consented  to  the  pur- 
chase of  eight  yards,  though  Mr.  Farnsworth  ad- 
vised ten. 

Delighted  beyond  measure  over  the  success  of 
his  villainy,  the  deceitful  Sam  and  his  fellow-con- 
spirator lured  Mrs.  Rounds  into  the  purchase  of  a 
black-and-white  cashmere  dress.  The  purchase  price 
was  four-and-a-half  dollars,  but  Sam  settled  pri- 
vately at  twenty-six. 

Sam's  crowning  triumph  was  the  purchase  of  a 
black  lace  shawl,  listed  at  one  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars.  After  ten  minutes  of  dickering  with  Mr. 
Farnsworth,  Sam  succeeded  in  acquiring  that  treas- 
ure for  $11.25.  Likewise  he  bought  a  twenty-five 
dollar  bonnet  for  three-and-a-half  dollars.  Hand- 
kerchiefs, stockings,  petticoats  and  shoes  fell  into 
Sam's  hands  at  ridiculous  prices,  until  his  mother, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes,  declared  that  she  would  not 
consent  to  the  purchase  of  another  article. 

Mr.  Farnsworth  presented  an  itemized  bill  for 
$47.27,  which  Sam  paid  from  a  generous  roll  of 
greenbacks.  On  the  plea  of  arranging  for  express- 
ing the  goods  to  Hingham,  Sam  met  Mr.  Farns- 
132 


SAMUEL      LEMUEL      ROUNDS 

worth  in  his  office  and  gave  him   a  check  for  the 
balance  of  $445.50. 

"I  swan,  I  havn't  had  so  much  fun  in  ten 
years,"  said  Sam,  as  he  shook  hands  with  Mr. 
Farnsworth  and  thanked  him.  "I  reckon  Ma 
Rounds  will  be  the  best-dressed  old  lady  between 
Boston  an'  Newport.  If  the  Recordin'  Angel  keeps 
track  of  all  ther  lies  as  is  told  down  here  below,  I 
reckon  we've  kept  him  pretty  fairly  middlin'  busy 
this  mornin'.  Good-day,  Mr,  Farnsworth,  an'  good 
luck  ter  you.  I've  got  another  team  of  rattlin' 
good  road  hosses  fer  ye,  an'  when  ye  gits  time  tew 
run  down  tew  Hingham  I'll  show  'em  tew  ye. 
Good-day." 


CHAPTER        THIRTEEN 

SAM'S       NEW       YORK       TRIUMPHS 

IGNORING  his  mother's  protest,  Sam  employed 
a  dressmaker  and  for  two  weeks  Mrs.  Rounds 
found  pleasure  in  assisting  the  seamstress  with 
her  work.  Sam  had  acquainted  the  latter  with  his 
secret,  and  she  agreed  to  protect  it.  But  his  pre- 
cautions were  in  vain. 

Sam  was  compelled  to  make  a  business  trip  to 
Springfield.  During  his  absence  a  married  daugh- 
ter, who  lived  in  Boston,  called  and  persuaded  Mrs. 
Rounds  to  spend  Sunday  with  her.  The  black  silk 
dress  was  almost  finished.  It  was  a  glorious  crea- 
tion, but  the  dressmaker's  plans  called  for  two  extra 
yards  of  lace.  Sam  had  liberally  supplied  his  mother 
with  money,  and  after  a  mental  struggle  she  decided 
to  squander  sixty  cents  for  the  necessary  two  yards 
of  lace. 

On  Monday  morning  her  daughter  escorted 
Mrs.  Rounds  to  the  dry-goods  establishment.  She 
had  a  small  sample  of  the  lace,  but  looked  in  vain 
for  Mr.  Farnsworth.  A  clerk  stated  that  Mr. 
Farnsworth  was  busy,  and  offered  to  wait  on  her. 
He  quickly  matched  the  lace,  measured  off  two 
yards  and  Mrs.  Rounds  tendered  him  a  one  dollar 
bill. 

"  It  is  ten  dollars,  madam ;  five  dollars  a  yard," 
said  the  polite  clerk. 

"  Five  dollars  a  yard  1 "  The  little  woman 
looked  at  the  clerk  with  staring  eyes.  "  Mr.  Farns- 
'34 


SAM'S     NEW    YORK     TRIUMPHS 

worth  only  charged  me  thirty  cents  a  yard.     There 
he  is  now.     Ask  him,  and  he'll  tell  you  so." 

"He's  trying  to  cheat  you,  ma,"  whispered  the 
daughter  as  Mr.  Farnsworth  approached.  He  recog- 
nized Mrs.  Rounds  and  greeted  her  pleasantly. 

"  Your  clerk  says  this  lace  is  five  dollars  a  yard, 
and  you  charged  me  only  thirty  cents,"  said  Mrs. 
Rounds  timidly. 

"  How  could  you  make  such  a  mistake?"  de- 
manded Mr.  Farnsworth  with  a  meaning  glance  at 
his  employe.  "  I  will  wait  on  this  lady.  He  is  a 
new  clerk,  madame,  and  not  familiar  with  our  price 
marks,"  he  explained  to  Mrs.  Rounds  as  the  puz- 
zled young  man  bowed  and  turned  away.  "  Thirty 
cents  is  right,  Mrs.  Rounds.  Never  mind  the 
money;  I'll  charge  it  to  your  son's  account.  How 
is  Mr.  Rounds?  He's  a  boy  to  be  proud  of.  Is 
there  anything  else  you  need?  Always  ask  for  me> 
when  you  call;  I  shall  be  delighted  to  serve  you. 
Good  day,  ladies." 

But  like  other  crimes  less  difficult  to  condoney 
this  one  was  destined  to  be  revealed.  The  preacher's 
wife  let  "  the  cat  out  of  the  bag,"  as  Sam  declared. 
She  called  on  Mrs.  Rounds,  and  since  they  had 
become  very  friendly,  was  shown  the  new  gown  and 
the  black  lace  shawl,  Whatever  of  envy  arose  in 
that  good  woman's  breast  was  lost  in  surprise  when 
Mrs.  Rounds  innocently  mentioned  the  price  she 
had  paid  for  the  silk. 

"  Sixty-five  cents   a   yard   for  that   silk ! "   she 

'35 


JOHN  BURT 

exclaimed.  "Why,  my  dear  Mrs.  Rounds,  you 
surely  must  be  jesting.  I  had  a  dress  like  that  when 
I  was  married  and  it  cost  six  dollars  a  yard.  And 
that  lace  at  thirty  cents !  It  surely  cost  five  dollars 
a  yard,  and  perhaps  more.  Farnsworth  &  Company 
handle  no  laces  worth  less  than  three  dollars.  That 
beautiful  shawl  must  have  cost  more  than  a  hundred 
dollars.  I  understand  now,"  she  continued  in  some 
confusion.  "Your  son  intended  to  surprise  you. 
It  was  very  good  of  him  and  very  clumsy  in  me  to 
reveal  his  secret." 

When  the  visitor  had  departed,  Mrs.  Rounds 
was  still  bewildered.  She  looked  with  awe  at  the 
garments  spread  out  before  her.  She  recalled  the 
interview  with  Mr.  Farnsworth.  The  clerk  was 
right ;  the  preacher's  wife  was  right. 

A  familiar  step  sounded  in  the  hallway,  and 
Sam  entered,  his  homely  face  rosy  with  a  smile. 

"  I'm  back  ergain,"  he  said,  fondly  embracing 
his  mother.  "  Admirin'  yer  new  gown,  eh?  Go 
an'  put  it  on,  an'  yer  bonnet  an'  shawl.  I  want  ter 
see  how  ye  looks,  dressed  up  as  er  real  lady." 

She  held  his  hands  and  looked  up,  tears  trick- 
ling down  her  faded  cheeks. 

"You — you  told  me  an  awful  story,  Samuel," 
she  faltered,  "  but — but  I  don't  think  you  meant  to 
do  wrong,  and — and  I'll  pray  for  you.  You  are 
very  good  to  me,  Samuel,  if  you  did  break  one  of 
the  commandments." 

"  That  didn't  break  no  commandment,"  said 
136 


SAM'S     NEW    YORK     TRIUMPHS 

Sam  with  a  contrite  grin,  "it  only  kinder  bent  it  er 
little.  Them  sorter  fibs  don't  count.  Don't  ye 
worry  erbout  ther  cost  of  them  clothes.  I've  made 
enough  money  since  I've  been  away  ter  pay  fer  three 
more  dresses  like  that  air  one.  It's  none  tew  good 
fer  ye,  an'  I  want  ye  to  wear  it  just  as  if  ye  wa'nt 
afraid  of  it." 

Despite  this  injunction,  the  silk  dress  and  lace 
shawl  saw  the  light  only  on  Sundays  or  on  such 
state  occasions  as  funerals  a/nd  weddings.  Being  a 
woman,  Mrs.  Rounds's  appreciation  of  these  treas- 
ures naturally  was  enhanced  by  a  knowledge  of  their 
cost. 

Sam's  rapidly  increasing  business  kept  him 
away  from  home  much  of  the  time.  Mrs.  Rounds 
was  busy  for  a  month  with  her  wardrobe.  She  then 
knitted  socks  for  Sam,  until  he  had  a  supply  suffi- 
cient to  last  a  lifetime.  This  task  completed,  she 
effected  a  compromise  with  the  housekeeper,  by  the 
terms  of  which  she  was  permitted  to  dust  the  rooms 
and  make  the  beds.  In  this  crisis  of  a  dearth  of 
work,  the  wife  of  a  neighbor  was  taken  ill  with 
typhoid  fever.  There  were  five  small  children  in  the 
family,  and  they  were  too  poor  to  employ  a  nurse. 

An  hour  after  Mrs.  Rounds  heard  the  news  she 
had  taken  charge  of  the  case.  Sam  was  away,  and 
the  housekeeper  was  powerless  to  restrain  her. 
Hour  after  hour  and  day  after  day  she  fought  the 
attacks  of  the  insidious  disease.  She  cooked  the 
meals,  soothed  the  crying  children,  spoke  words  of 


JOHN  BURT 

comfort  to  the  distracted  husband,  performed  the 
housework,  and  slept  at  such  rare  intervals  as  she 
could  find  between  her  multitudinous  duties.  The 
patient  was  convalescent  when  Sam  returned  home. 
He  at  once  employed  a  nurse  to  take  his  mother's 
place. 

She  listened  patiently  and  with  a  puzzled  smile 
to  Sam's  rebuking  lecture. 

"When  folks  are  sick,  some  one  must  take  care 
of  them,  Samuel,"  she  said,  when  he  had  ended. 
"They  are  poor,  and  J  had  nothing  else  to  do. 
The  Bible  says  you  must  visit  the  sick  when  they're 
afflicted.  You  won't  let  me  do  any  work  here  in 
the  house,  and  I  must  do  something." 

"  Read,  an'  ride,  an'  rest,  an'  take  things  easy," 
said  Sam,  who  saw  his  plans  crumbling  before  his 
eyes.  He  was  unable  to  exact  any  promise  from  his 
mother,  although  he  had  his  way  as  long  as  he 
remained  at  home. 

Mrs.  Rounds  was  the  first  to  learn  of  sickness 
or  of  trouble  in  any  family  for  miles  around,  and 
first  to  respond.  She  officiated  at  childbirths,  or 
with  tender  fingers  closed  the  eyes  of  the  dead  and 
stitched  their  shrouds.  When  children  had  croup 
or  measles,  the  neighbors  sent,  not  for  the  doctor, 
but  for  Mrs.  Rounds.  She  found  relaxation  in 
sewing  for  any  one  who  would  accept  her  services. 

She  seemed  to  grow  younger  despite  these 
activities,  and  Sam  finally  accepted  the  inevitable. 
Of  the  liberal  allowance  of  money  which  he  gave 

138 


SAM'S     NEW    YORK    TRIUMPHS 

her,  Mrs.  Rounds  spent  little,  and  most  of  that 
went  for  medicine  and  clothes  for  neighbors  who 
could  not  afford  such  expenditures.  The  remainder 
was  stored  away  against  that  "rainy  day"  made 
inevitable  by  Sam's  recklessness  and  extravagance, 
as  she  saw  it. 

A  woman  with  a  heart  more  kind  and  a  nature 
more  generous  never  lived,  but  she  regarded  money 
with  a  sentiment  which  was  almost  veneration.  For 
generations  there  had  been  a  money  famine  in  her 
family.  She  could  imagine  of  no  way  to  accumu- 
late money  other  than  by  hoarding  it.  The  crisp 
new  bills  which  Sam  showered  into  her  hands  broke 
a  drought  which  had  been  transmitted  from  her 
ancestors.  When  the  first  one  hundred  dollars  had 
been  accumulated,  she  counted  it  over  again  and 
again,  like  one  in  a  dream.  It  represented  affluence 
and  independence.  She  gazed  at  it,  not  as  a  miser, 
but  like  one  who  has  come  into  a  glorious  and 
unexpected  heritage.  She  showed  her  treasure  to 
Sam. 

"Why  don't  yer  spend  it,  Ma  Rounds?"  asked 
that  philosopher.  "That's  what  money's  fer.  Buy 
somethin'  with  it.  Here's  another  hundred,  all  in 
one  bill,"  he  said,  extracting  a  yellow  note  from  a 
bulky  pocketbook,  and  handing  it  to  his  mother. 
"We're  goin'  tew  New  York  before  long,  an'  you 
must  git  used  tew  spendin  money.  Go  tew  Boston 
an'  practice  an'  git  yer  hand  in." 

Mrs.  Rounds  considered  this  one  hundred  dol- 

139 


JOHN  BURT 

lar  bill  as  so  much  money  saved  from  the  approach- 
ing wreck  of  Sam's  fortunes.  She  bought  a  pew  in 
the  little  country  church  for  eight  dollars,  and  expe- 
rienced a  keen  thrill  of  delight  when  she  gave  five 
dollars  to  the  foreign  missionary  fund.  She  pur- 
chased a  pair  of  crutches  for  the  crippled  child  of  a 
neighbor,  and  stored  the  rest  away,  adding  to  it 
from  time  to  time  as  Sam  gave  her  money.  She 
could  hardly  believe  her  eyes  when  her  funds  counted 
up  to  five  hundred  dollars. 

Sam  made  several  successful  ventures  in  the 
New  York  horse  market,  and  decided  to  locate 
there.  He  bought  a  cozy  house  on  the  East  Side, 
fronting  a  small  park,  and  installed  his  mother  as 
mistress  of  the  establishment.  His  business  pros- 
pered. Having  firmly  established  his  position  as  a 
shipper  and  dealer  in  horses,  he  turned  his  atten- 
tion to  the  commission  business.  Taking  advan- 
tage of  a  shortage  in  the  cranberry  crop,  he  bought 
a  large  part  of  the  available  supply  and  cleared 
thousands  of  dollars  in  consequence  of  his  sagacity. 
He  then  embarked  in  the  produce  and  commission 
business  on  a  large  scale  and  scored  another  suc- 
cess. 

Sam  Rounds  combined  traits  seldom  found  in 
one  individual.  He  was  a  shrewd  business  man, 
quick  to  take  a  commercial  advantage,  but  rigidly 
honest.  He  was  liberal  almost  to  a  fault.  The 
poor  for  blocks  around  became  recipients  of  his 
bounty.  In  the  long  years  marked  by  business  and 
140 


SAM'S     NEW    YORK    TRIUMPHS 

financial  depression  which  followed  his  advent  in 
New  York,  he  distributed  thousands  of  dollars' 
worth  of  provisions  among  the  poverty-stricken 
people  of  his  neighborhood.  He  perfected  an 
arrangement  with  other  produce  merchants  by 
which  uncalled  for  perishable  stock  was  thus  dis- 
posed. 

Sam  had  a  kind  word  and  a  joke  for  every  one, 
and  became  generally  popular.  In  the  dead  of 
winter  he  rented  an  old  building  on  the  East  Side, 
and  made  it  a  distributing  point  for  provisions  con- 
tributed by  himself  and  by  his  competitors.  Mrs. 
Rounds  was  delighted  when  she  found  that  this 
gave  full  sway  to  her  activities.  She  hunted  up 
those  deserving  poor  who  were  too  proud  to  ap- 
peal for  aid.  The  supply  of  sick  children  and 
troubled  mothers  was  inexhaustible,  and  time  no 
longer  hung  heavily  on  her  hands.  She  still  clung 
to  her  money  and  steadily  added  to  it,  but  she 
fully  endorsed  Sam's  liberality  in  the  matter  of  pro- 
visions. 

"  They  will  not  keep,"  she  explained  to  herself, 
"and  money  will." 

It  was  a  picture  to  watch  Sam  Rounds  super- 
intending the  distribution  of  potatoes,  carrots,  cab- 
bages, fish  and  other  food  forwarded  to  the  East 
Side  headquarters. 

"  Help  yourself,"  he  said  to  an  old  couple  who 
entered  from  the  long  line  in  waiting.  "Those 
ain't  ther  best  potatoes  in  ther  market,  but  they're 


JOHN  BURT 

pretty  fairly  middlin'  good.  They  remind  me  of 
old  Uncle  Toby  Haines,  who  lived  down  East, 
whar  I  cum  from.  They  say  as  heow  every  man  is 
as  lazy  as  he  dares  tew  be,  an'  I  reckon  Uncle  Toby 
Haines  was  ther  most  courageous  man  that  ever 
lived.  He  wouldn't  do  nothin'.  Once  I  went  tew 
his  house  in  winter  time  an'  found  him  in  bed,  cov- 
ered with  a  fish-net. 

'"What  ye  got  that  fish  net  over  yer  fer?'  I 
asked  him.  'That  won't  keep  ye  warm,'  I  sed. 

"'Wall,'  he  sed,  as  he  rolled  over  an'  yawned, 
4 1  reckon  it  keeps  out  ther  coarsest  part  of  ther 
cold.'" 

"It's  ther  same  with  ther  potatoes  an'  things," 
laughed  Sam,  slipping  a  two  dollar  bill  into  the  old 
woman's  hand.  "  They  ain't  ther  best  in  ther  world, 
but  they're  good  an'  fillin',  an'  will  stop  ther 
coarsest  part  of  ther  hunger.  Don't  be  afraid  on 
'em.  Take  all  ye  want — ther's  two  carloads  more 
comin'." 

At  the  age  of  thirty-five,  having  amassed  a  com- 
petency, Sam  Rounds  determined  to  improve  what 
he  termed  his  "  book  education."  Four  winter 
terms  in  the  Rehoboth  public  school  gave  him  all  of 
which  he  could  boast  in  the  way  of  erudition.  He 
therefore  began  a  course  of  study  in  a  night  school, 
which  he  attended  four  evenings  in  the  week.  He 
joined  a  debating  society,  and  became  a  member  of 
rarious  social  and  political  organizations  in  his  dis- 
trict. 
142 


SAM'S     NEW    YORK    TRIUMPHS 

The  corruption  of  the  local  politicians  precipi- 
tated a  revolt  against  the  party  in  power,  and  the 
voter's  of  Sam's  district  held  a  meeting  for  the  pur- 
pose of  nominating  an  alderman  to  stand  against 
an  incumbent  who  had  betrayed  his  trust.  Sam's 
name  was  proposed  with  cheers.  He  was  nomi- 
nated by  acclamation,  and  escorted  to  the  platform. 

No  introduction  was  necessary.  Nearly  every 
man  in  the  room  knew  and  respected  the  homely, 
awkward,  freckled  and  red-haired  man  who  stood 
before  them.  Hundreds  of  them  had  reason  to  re- 
member his  generosity.  Embarrassed  for  a  moment, 
Sam  regained  his  self-possession  and  made  a  speech 
direct  and  simple  in  its  rude  eloquence.  It  was 
singularly  free  from  the  idioms  which  characterized 
his  conversation,  and  while  purists  might  have  criti- 
cised his  grammar,  he  held  the  rapt  attention  of  his 
hearers,  who  punctuated  his  sentences  with  applause. 

"  If  honesty  is  good  policy  in  business,  as  they 
say  it  is,"  he  declared,  "  it  should  be  a  good  thing 
in  politics.  Those  who  know  me,  know  that  I'm 
not  a  politician,  and  those  that  don't  know  me  will 
mighty  soon  find  it  out.  The  only  promise  I  can 
make  is  that  if  I  am  elected — and  I  calculate  to  be 
— is  that  I  would  no  sooner  think  of  cheating  my 
neighbors  as  an  alderman,  than  I  would  of  cheating 
them  in  selling  potatoes  or  cabbages." 

Samuel  Lemuel  Rounds  was  triumphantly  elected 
alderman  by  the  largest  majority  ever  cast  for  a 
candidate  in  his  district. 

'43 


.CHAPTER       FOURTEEN 

LOST  IN  THE  SNOW 

"T  OOKS  like  more  snow  !" 
I  y  At  the  sound  of  his  master's  voice  a 
shepherd  dog  raised  his  head  inquiringly, 
and  followed  the  gaze  of  the  speaker  as  he  studied 
the  leaden  sky  and  the  crests  of  snowclad  ridges 
and  mountains.  This  habit  of  voicing  thought 
develops  in  those  who  spend  long  periods  in  soli- 
tude, and  James  Blake — once  a  farmer  boy  in 
Hingham,  and  now  a  California  gold  miner  and 
prospector — was  no  exception  to  the  rule. 

"  We  are  surely  going  to  have  another  snow- 
storm, old  dog,"  continued  Blake,  as  he  plunged 
his  head  into  a  basin  of  ice-cold  water,  dipped  from 
a  mountain  brook  which  brawled  noisily  a  few  rods 
away.  "Let  'er  snow,  eh,  Dog!  We  were  here 
first,  warn't  we  ?  It  won't  snow  in  the  tunnel,  will 
it,  old  fellow?"  And  he  laughingly  slapped  the 
dog  with  the  towel,  and  shoved  him  into  a  snow- 
bank as  he  leaped  towards  him. 

"Are  you  hungry,  Dog?  Ready  for  break- 
fast, eh?  How  about  a  chunk  of  deer  meat?  Have 
it  cooked  or  raw?  Raw,  did  you  say?  Speak  up, 
Dog!  Speak  up  for  your  breakfast!" 

Thus  appealed  to,  the  big  shepherd  emitted 
a  yelp  of  entreaty  which  echoed  and  re-echoed  from 
hill  to  rock  until  the  rarified  air  resounded  with  a 
howling  chorus.  An  encircling  pack  of  wolves 
could  not  have  raised  a  louder  or  more  menacing 
144 


LOST       IN       THE       SNOW 

din.  Blake  laughed  and  cuffed  his  canine  friend, 
and  then  turned  to  his  cabin,  pausing  to  survey  the 
valley  which  spread  out  two  thousand  feet  below 
him. 

At  that  moment  the  rising  sun  flamed  through 
a  rift  in  the  clouds.  Broad  splashes  of  light  flashed 
on  the  white  peaks  to  the  west,  and  a  stray  shaft 
burned  through  the  mist  into  the  valley.  The  wind- 
ing river  and  the  pine-girt  lake  turned  into  gleam- 
ing silver.  The  trees,  with  their  burdens  of  snow, 
glittered  like  diamonds.  To  the  south  the  blue- 
black  shadow  of  Bear  Peak  wrapped  all  below  in 
gloom. 

But  the  brightness  was  transient.  A  gray  cur- 
tain was  slowly  drawn  over  the  distant  range  to  the 
west — an  advancing  mantle  of  swirling  snow.  The 
light  faded  from  the  valley,  and  died  on  the  beet- 
ling heights.  As  Blake  watched,  the  gray  fingers 
of  the  clouds  blurred  the  farther  rim  of  the  valley, 
and  the  pines  above  his  head  soughed  in  the  first 
breath  of  the  nearing  storm.  A  few  large  flakes 
fluttered  softly  down. 

"  Let's  get  breakfast,  Dog,"  he  said  as  he  en- 
tered the  cabin.  "I  told  you  it  was  going  to  snow." 

Blake's  cabin  stood  well  back  from  the  edge  of 
a  cliff  half  way  up  the  slope  of  a  valley  in  the  Sierra 
Nevadas  of  central  California.  In  the  late  autumn 
he  had  hewn  the  logs  and  constructed  his  .nountain 
home.  A  few  yards  away  a  mound  of  red  dirt  and 
fractured  rocks  marked  the  mouth  of  a  tunnel, 

145 


JOHN  BURT 

which  represented  his  faith  in  that  fickle  fortune 
whom  gold  seekers  worship.  The  edge  of  the 
cliff,  for  a  mile  or  more,  formed  a  natural  trail 
which  opened  into  the  valley.  Four  or  five  thous- 
and feet  above  the  roof  of  the  cabin  rose  a  dome 
of  perpetual  snow,  pierced  by  bare  ledges  of  rock. 
The  mountain  torrent  which  tumbled  past  his  door 
hurled  itself  over  the  cliff  and  fell  in  mist  and  spray 
hundreds  of  feet  below. 

The  interior  of  the  cabin  was  of  a  type  familiar 
to  miners  and  mountaineers.  The  floor  was  of 
beaten  clay,  hard  as  brick.  In  one  corner  was  a 
bed  with  a  mattress  of  fir  boughs,  covered  with 
blankets,  and  with  a  bear  skin — this  last  by  way  of 
counterpane.  The  walls  were  decorated  with  skins 
and  hides ;  the  splendid  pelt  of  a  grizzly  bear 
occupying  the  place  of  honor.  A  cooking  stove 
and  an  assortment  of  skillets,  tin  plates  and  pans 
filled  the  side  of  the  hut  opposite  the  bed,  while  in 
the  center  of  the  room  stood  a  rude  table  with  a 
raised  log  serving  as  a  chair. 

Scattered  along  the  walls  were  mining  tools, 
powder  kegs,  guns,  fishing  rods,  and  a  miscellaneous 
assortment  of  lumber  and  firewood.  A  small  but 
strongly-constructed  ell  was  used  as  a  storeroom. 
Haunches  of  venison,  the  carcass  of  a  brown  bear, 
and  long  strings  of  mountain  trout  were  here 
securely  guarded  against  the  depredations  of  wan- 
dering animals.  Bags  of  flour  and  oatmeal,  some 
potatoes,  sides  of  bacon,  and  the  remnants  of  a  ham 
146 


LOST       IN       THE       SNOW 

completed  the  more  substantial  portion  of  Blake's 
larder.  He  often  surveyed  his  snug  storeroom  with 
much  satisfaction.  Nothing  but  a  conflagration 
or  a  serious  illness  could  disturb  his  labors  during 
the  long  winter  season.  The  brook  gave  him  water ; 
the  forest  supplied  firewood;  his  work  sharpened 
his  appetite,  and  the  dog  was  an  appreciative  guest 
and  a  loyal  companion.  And  in  the  bowels  of  the 
earth,  in  the  direction  of  that  long  black  tunnel  was 
gold,  gold,  gold — awaiting  the  impact  of  a  pick 
swung  by  his  brawny  arms. 

Breakfast  ended,  James  Blake  lit  his  pipe  and 
started  for  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel.  The  dog  fol- 
lowed him.  This  faithful  animal  had  whined  at  the 
door  of  the  cabin  one  stormy  night,  and  the  lonely 
miner  had  welcomed  him.  Blake  gave  him  no 
name  other  than  Dog,  and  he  seemed  proud  of  the 
title. 

Though  less  than  an  hour  had  passed  since 
Blake  entered  the  cabin,  the  snow  already  had 
drifted  across  the  path  and  blocked  the  door. 
Those  whose  knowledge  of  snowstorms  is  confined 
to  localities  where  a  foot  or  two  of  snow  in  forty- 
eight  hours  is  called  a  "  blizzard,"  and  esteemed  a 
meteorological  event,  have  no  conception  of  a  snow- 
storm in  the  Sierras.  In  Vermont,  famous  for 
snowfalls,  an  inch  an  hour  constitutes  a  heavy  storm. 
But  when  the  warm  vapor  from  the  Pacific  is  driven 
inland,  until  the  crests  of  the  "Snowy  Mountains" 
stand  as  a  cold  barrier  against  its  progress,  the  pre- 


JOHN  BURT 

cipitation  is  many  times  greater.  In  summer,  cloud- 
bursts sweep  solid  rocks  down  the  mountain-sides; 
in  winter,  the  swirling  flakes  smother  the  air.  Near 
the  timber  line  in  the  Sierra  Nevadas  there  has  been 
recorded  a  fall  of  fourteen  feet  of  snow  in  as  many 
consecutive  hours — an  inch  every  five  minutes — a 
swirling,  writhing,  choking  maelstrom  of  flakes, 
borne  on  the  wings  of  a  freezing  gale. 

It  was  such  a  storm  that  Blake  faced  when  he 
opened  the  cabin  door  and  plunged  through  the 
drifts  into  the  tunnel. 

"This  is  an  old  snifter,  isn't  it,  Dog?"  he  ex- 
claimed as  he  stood  in  the  mouth  of  the  shaft  and 
shook  the  snow  from  his  blouse.  "No  rabbits  or 
chipmunks  today,  eh,  Dog!" 

Blake  lit  a  lantern,  and  wormed  his  way  into  the 
dismal  hole.  A  few  minutes  later  he  was  hard  at 
work,  pausing  now  and  then  to  examine  the  rock 
with  eager  eyes.  He  had  been  toiling  for  three 
hours  or  more  when  tne  dog's  sniffling  attracted  his 
notice.  As  he  turned,  the  animal  raised  his  head, 
barked  sharply,  and  growled  in  a  peculiar  manner. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Dog !  "  said  Blake,  patting 
his  friend.  "What  a  cursed  shame  the  creature 
can't  talk  I  What's  up,  old  boy?  Seen  a  bear? 
Don't  bother  with  him — let  him  alone.  Go  away. 
Dog,  I'm  busy,"  and  Blake  returned  to  his  task. 

Leaning  back  against  the  wall  of  the  tunnel, 
with  his  paws  hanging  in  a  most  doleful  fashion,  the 
dog  sounded  a  long-drawn  wail,  so  pitiful  in  its 
14* 


LOST       IN       THE       SNOW 

intensity  that  Blake  dropped  his  pick  and  gazed  at 
the  animal  in  amazement  mixed  with  terror.  The 
animal  sprang  forward  and  fastened  his  teeth  in  the 
leg  of  Blake's  trousers,  pulling  gently  but  firmly, 
growling  and  whining. 

"This  is  a  new  freak!"  muttered  Blake,  grab- 
bing the  lantern.  "  Something  has  happened.  Per- 
haps the  hut's  afire." 

He  moved  quickly  towards  the  mouth  of  the 
tunnel.  The  dog  gave  a  joyful  bark  and  led  the 
way.  Blake  reached  the  open  air,  and  floundered 
through  the  drifts  until  the  cabin  was  visible  through 
the  blinding  snow.  The  dog  went  past  it,  and 
howled  dismally  when  his  master  paused.  Rushing 
into  the  hut,  Blake  secured  a  long  rope,  one  end  of 
which  he  tied  to  the  leg  of  a  bench  near  the  door. 
Paying  out  the  coil,  he  dashed  sturdily  forward.  He 
had  no  difficulty  in  keeping  up  with  the  dog,  who 
was  half  buried  in  his  struggles. 

Two  hundred  feet  from  the  house  the  dog 
paused  and  sniffed  the  air.  Then,  with  a  yelp,  he 
plunged  to  the  right,  made  for  a  rock  which  showed 
dim  through  the  snow,  and  burrowed  frantically 
into  a  drift  on  its  leeward  side.  In  the  white  mass 
Blake  saw  a  dark  object,  and  as  he  reached  the 
rock  it  moved.  The  next  instant  a  bearded  face 
appeared  from  the  folds  of  a  heavy  fur  overcoat, 
and  a  man  struggled  unsteadily  to  his  feet. 

"Can  you  walk?"  shouted  Blake  grasping  him 
by  the  arm.  The  man  was  dazed,  but  full  of  pluck. 

149 


JOHN  BURT 

"I  think  so,"  said  the  stranger,  as  he  grasped 
the  rope.  "  How  far  is  it?" 

"  Not  far,"  replied  Blake  encouragingly.  "  Pull 
on  the  rope.  It  will  help  you." 

Once  in  the  cabin,  the  stranger  seated  him- 
self near  the  stove,  while  Blake  produced  a  flask 
and  heaped  fuel  on  the  fire. 

"  Keep  your  hands  and  feet  away  from  the 
stove,  if  they  are  frozen,"  cautioned  Blake.  "Thaw- 
ing them  out  by  putting  them  in  the  snow  is  the 
best  way." 

"  I'm  not  frost-bitten,"  was  the  stranger's  re- 
ply, as  he  clapped  his  hands  vigorously  and  pinched 
his  ears.  "  I  was  completely  done  for,  and  took 
shelter  behind  that  rock,  which  was  the  only  place  I 
could  find.  If  you  hadn't  found  me  when  you  did," 
he  said  with  much  feeling,  as  he  extended  his  hand, 
"  I  should  never  have  left  there  alive  !  " 

At  the  sound  of  the  man's  voice  James  Blake 
started  and  gazed  intently  at  him.  When  the 
bearded  stranger  raised  his  eyes  and  offered  his 
hand  the  recognition  was  complete. 

"John  Burt,  or  I'm  a  ghost!"  Don't  you 
know  me,  John?" 

"Jim  Blake  I" 

The  New  Englander  is  not  demonstrative  in 
his  emotions  or  affections,  but  the  joy  which  danced 
in  the  eyes  of  these  reunited  friends  as  they  shook 
hands  and  slapped  each  other  on  the  back  was  more 
eloquent  than  words.  The  dog  yelped  in  sym- 
150 


J 


The  next  instant  a  bearded  face  appeared  from  the  folds 
of  a  heavy  fur  overcoat. 


LOST       IN       THE       SNOW 

pathy,  and  the  storm  with  a  wilder  shriek  raged 
at  the  escape  of  its  prey. 

"This  seems  too  good  to  be  true,  Jim!"  ex- 
claimed John,  his  hand  on  Jim's  shoulder.  "  But 
for  you,  old  chum,  my  California  experience  would 
have  been  ended.  How  small  the  world  is,  that  we 
should  meet  here,  of  all  places  on  earth!  " 

"Take  off  your  clothes  and  get  into  bed, 
John,"  directed  Blake,  as  he  pushed  John  into  a 
chair  and  tugged  at  his  frozen  boots.  "  Do  as  I 
tell  you,  and  you'll  be  all  right.  When  you  are 
warm  and  rested,  I'll  give  you  a  suit  of  dry  clothes. 
In  the  meantime  I'll  cook  you  a  dinner  that'll  make 
you  glad  you  are  alive.  I'm  running  this  hotel, 
and  guests  do  as  they  are  told  or  get  out ! " 

"I  shall  obey  orders,"  said  John,  as  a  blast 
shook  the  hut  and  a  pine  tree  crashed  to  the  rocks. 
"  I'm  all  right,  Jim,  but  dry  clothes  won't  hurt  me, 
and  your  bed  looks  inviting." 

"You  mustn't  go  to  sleep;  it's  not  safe,  after 
exposure,"  cautioned  Blake,  as  he  wrapped  the 
blankets  around  John  Burt.  "  Take  another  pull 
at  that  flask,  old  man,  and  lie  there  and  watch  the 
best  cook  in  the  Sierra  Nevadas  prepare  a  dinner 
that  will  make  your  hair  curl.  Lie  quiet  and  rest. 
Don't  talk,  but  keep  awake." 

Several  times,  during  the  next  two  hours,  John 
fell  into  a  drowse,  but  by  force  of  will  he  roused 
himself.  The  reaction  after  the  awful  struggle  in 
the  drifts  was  severe,  but  he  mastered  it  and  was 


JOHN  BURT 

himself  again.  Blake  exhausted  the  resources  of 
his  larder  in  a  dinner  which  John  enjoyed  as  never 
before  in  his  life,  and  Dog  did  not  go  hungry. 

Then  pipes  were  produced,  and,  seated  near 
the  red-hot  stove,  the  two  friends  recounted  some 
of  the  events  which  had  marked  their  lives  during 
the  preceding  six  years.  It  seemed  ages  to  both  of 
them.  The  striplings  of  seventeen  were  now  stal- 
wart men. 

James  Blake,  at  twenty-two,  was  strikingly 
handsome.  Manhood  had  generously  developed 
the  graces  of  face  and  figure  which  compel  the  ad- 
miration of  a  friend  and  entrance  the  eye  of  a 
woman.  Wavy  black  hair  clustered  above  a  well- 
shaped  forehead.  His  eyes  were  large,  dark  and 
magnetic;  his  nose  bold,  but  perfectly  formed;  his 
chin  square  and  powerfully  molded.  It  was  impos- 
sible to  resist  Blake's  smile,  and  his  laugh  was 
wholesome  and  contagious.  Clean  limbed,  broad 
shouldered,  graceful,  active  and  muscular,  he  stood 
six  feet  tall  and  looked  every  inch  a  manly,  gen- 
erous and  chivalrous  Apollo. 

John  Burt  was  lacking  in  that  physical  exact- 
ness which  distinguished  his  boyhood  companion, 
though  he  too  would  have  been  a  commanding 
figure  in  any  assemblage.  But  he  possessed  some- 
thing that  Blake  lacked.  When  the  other  looked 
into  John  Burt's  eyes  and  heard  the  calm,  even 
accents  of  his  voice,  he  felt  himself  in  the  presence 
of  a  dominating  influence,  and  realized  that  the 
'5* 


LOST       IN       THE       SNOW 

years  had  not  torn  the  scepter  of  leadership  from 
the  hands  of  the  boy  he  once  loved  to  follow. 

And  Blake  was  glad  to  reaffirm  his  allegiance 
to  John  Burt.  He  tendered  it  silently  and  without 
loss  of  self  respect,  and  John  Burt  accepted  it  in- 
tuitively, without  a  shade  of  arrogance. 

Blake  listened  eagerly  to  his  friend's  recital  of 
the  events  leading  up  to  the  quarrel  with  Arthur 
Morris.  John  told  of  his  studies  in  the  old  farm- 
house, and  of  his  admission  to  Harvard.  He  spoke 
of  meeting  Miss  Garden  at  the  Bishops',  but  made 
no  mention  of  the  runaway  accident  that  served  to 
renew  their  childhood  acquaintance.  He  told  of 
escorting  Jessie  to  the  clambake,  of  Morris'  condi- 
tion and  conduct  when  he  arrived  from  the  Voltaire, 
and  of  the  sail  with  Jessie  in  John's  catboat,  the 
Standish. 

John  said  nothing  of  his  avowal  of  love  on  that 
occasion,  but  Blake  was  not  slow  to  note  the  change 
in  his  voice  and  the  expression  of  his  eyes  when  he 
referred  to  Jessie  Garden.  Jim  clenched  his  hands 
and  leaned  excitedly  forward  when  John  told  of  the 
struggle  with  Morris  in  the  old  tavern.  John  then 
described  the  interview  with  Peter  Burt,  the  old 
man's  advice,  the  night  ride  to  New  Bedford,  and 
the  long  voyage  of  the  Segregansett.  Blake  had 
listened  breathlessly. 

"I  have  sometimes  thought,"  said  John,  "that 
I  should  have  remained  and  faced  the  charge  of 
murder  which  might  have  been  made  against  me. 

'S3 


JOHN  BURT 

That  was  my  first  impulse.  I  did  not  kill  Morris, 
and  it  is  only  by  chance  that  he  did  not  kill  me. 
The  revolver  was  still  in  his  hand  when  he  fell, 
though  I  had  bent  his  wrist  so  that  he  could  not 
turn  it  against  me.  It  was  one  of  those  new  self- 
cocking  weapons  and  Morris  shot  himself.  But  I 
had  no  witnesses,  and  Grandfather  Burt  and — and 
others  advised  me  to  put  myself  beyond  the  reach 
of  a  prosecution  in  which  all  the  money  and  influ- 
ence would  have  been  against  me." 

"Your  granddad  was  right,"  asserted  Blake 
with  prompt  fervor.  uYour  future  would  have 
been  ruined  had  you  stayed  there  and  stacked  up 
against  those  millionaires.  California  is  full  of  men 
who  really  are  murderers,  and  most  of  them  seem  to 
be  getting  rich.  You  are  innocent,  your  conscience 
is  clear,  and  you'll  win  out  and  go  back  if  you  want 
to.  Then  you  can  meet  them  as  an  equal.  The  old 
man's  head  is  level.  I  remember  him,  John,  and  he 
always  was  a  great  man.  But  I  can't  place  Miss 
Garden — Jessie,  you  said  her  name  was.  Did  I  ever 
see  her,  John?" 

"  I  think  not,  Jim.  You  left  before  she  visited 
with  the  Bishops.  She  was  a  child  when  you  went 
away." 

"  Is  she  pretty,  John?" 

It  may  have  been  only  a  reflection  from  the 
ruddy  flame  that  suddenly  flared  from  the  smoulder- 
ing logs,  but  James  Blake  thought  that  John  blushed 
when  he  asked  the  question= 

'54 


LOST       IN       THE       SNOW 

"  I  should  not  call  her  pretty;  I  should  describe 
her  as  beautiful,"  replied  John,  after  a  pause,  as  he 
looked  into  Jim's  face. 

"  Then  she's  more  than  pretty,"  laughed  Blake,~ 
grasping   his  friend's  hand.     "I  congratulate  you, 
old  man,  and  wish  you  all  kinds  of  success  and  joy. 
I  only  wish  we  had  something  here  worthy  to  be 
drunk  as  a  toast  in  her  honor." 

"I  have  no  claim  to  congratulations,"  said 
John,  releasing  his  friend's  hand.  "You  have 
assumed  too  much  from  my  narrative.  But  tell  me 
of  yourself,  Jim.  I  have  been  doing  all  the  talking, 
and  have  inspired  you  to  most  generous  castle 
building  in  my  behalf.  Let  me  do  as  much  for  you. 
What  have  you  done  in  California,  and  what  has  the 
Golden  State  done  for  you?" 


«S5 


CHAPTER        FIFTEEN 

THE  SAILOR  MINE 

"  TT  would  take  me  a  week,  Joha,  to  tell  my  experi- 

JL     ences  of  the  last  five  years,"  said  Jim  Blake, 

tossing  another  log  mto  the  fire.     "  Most  of 

them  would    not    interest  you,  some  might  amuse 

you,  and  others  would  make  you  mad.     I've  been 

rich  three  times,  John,  and  in  love  twice — no,  three 

times." 

"How  rich,  and  how  badly  in  love?" 
"  My  strokes  of  fortune  and  my  love  affairs  are 
all  jumbled  together,"  explained  Blake,  laughing 
heartily.  "You'll  have  a  bad  opinion  of  me,  John, 
but  I've  reformed,  and  am  going  to  lead  a  better 
life.  I  made  my  first  strike  on  the  Little  Calaveras. 
Talk  about  luck!  That  was  a  funny  thing.  I  broke 
my  neck  and  discovered  a  gold  mine  and  a  sweet- 
heart in  doing  it! " 

"  Broke  your  neck?  Surely  you're  jesting!  " 
"It's  a  fact,  just  the  same,"  asserted  Blake, 
thoughtfully  rubbing  the  back  of  his  neck,  which 
showed  no  signs  of  fracture.  "I  was  a  greenhorn 
then,  and  my  prospecting  expeditions  were  the  joke 
of  the  old  stagers.  I  bought  a  horse  and  a  Mexi- 
can saddle,  and  prowled  through  all  the  mountains 
and  foothills  back  of  the  Little  Calaveras.  One 
afternoon  I  was  following  a  trail  that  skirted  along 
the  side  of  a  mountain.  It  was  near  the  upper 
edge  of  a  slope  about  as  steep  as  Doc  Stevens' 
barn— you  remember  that  barn,  John?  There's 
156 


THE      SAILOR      MINE 

a  lot  of  woodchucks  in  those  hills,  and  in  bur- 
rowing around  one  of  them  loosened  a  rock,  which 
came  rolling  down  in  my  direction.  My  horse 
saw  and  heard  it,  and  shied  off  the  trail.  It  was 
like  stepping  off  the  ridge  pole  of  a  barn.  The 
slope  was  covered  with  loose  slate,  which  looked 
for  all  the  world  like  shingles.  He  slid  about 
twenty  feet  and  then  fell;  and  as  he  went  my  right 
foot  went  through  the  stirrup.  He  rolled  over 
me,  and  we  started  down  that  slope.  Sometimes 
I  was  on  top,  and  sometimes  he  was  on  top. 

"You  can  bet  I  was  doing  some  lively  think- 
ing about  that  time,"  continued  Blake.  "  Four  or 
five  hundred  feet  below  I  saw  a  thin  row  of  trees, 
and  I  knew  they  marked  the  edge  of  a  cliff.  For 
some  reason  there's  'most  always  a  fringe  of  trees 
at  these  jumping-off  places.  We  were  going  like 
lightning.  Just  as  we  neared  the  edge  the  horse 
rolled  over  me  again.  As  I  came  on  top,  I  saw 
that  we  were  going  to  pass  between  two  small 
trees.  A  big  rock  slewed  the  horse  around,  and 
he  went  down  head  first.  I  grabbed  at  a  tree,  and 
by  the  merest  chance  threw  my  free  leg  around  it. 
I  held  like  grim  death  to  a  coon,  and  heard  the 
leather  snap  as  the  horse  went  over  the  precipice. 
If  it  had  been  a  first-class  saddle  I  wouldn't  be 
here  to  tell  the  tale.  I  was  hanging  out  over  the 
cliff.  It  was  eighteen  hundred  feet  down  to  the 
first  stopping  place,  and  I  saw  that  horse,  all  sprad- 
dled out,  turn  over  and  over  in  the  air.  I  closed 


JOHN  BURT 

my  eyes  so  as  not  to  see  him  strike.  Then  I 
crawled  back  a  few  feet  and  sat  down  behind  a 
rock.  That's  the  last  thing  I  remember  until  I 
woke  up  in  bed.  An  old  doctor,  whose  breath 
smelled  of  liquor,  was  bending  over  me,  and  near 
him  was  one  of  the  prettiest  girls  I  ever  saw.  She 
and  her  father  were  approaching  me  when  I  started 
to  slide  down  the  mountain.  Her  name  was  Jenny 
Rogers." 

Jim  sighed  and  paused. 

"  This  is  growing  romantic,  but  how  about  the 
broken  neck  ?"  asked  John. 

"  It  was  broken,  or  dislocated,  which  is  about 
the  same  thing,"  continued  Blake.  "Jenny's  father 
knew  of  an  old  Spanish  doctor,  about  forty  miles 
away,  and  went  for  him.  He  was  a  wonder  on 
bones.  He  was  black  as  an  Indian  and  uglier  than 
sin.  He  felt  around  my  neck,  swore  softly  in  Span- 
ish, rolled  me  over  on  my  face,  climbed  on  my 
back,  jabbed  his  knees  into  my  shoulder  blades, 
and  grabbed  me  by  the  jaws.  He  gave  my  head  a 
quick  wrench.  I  saw  a  thousand  skyrockets ;  some- 
thing cracked  and  I  became  senseless.  When  I 
awoke  he  had  my  neck  in  splints,  and  was  jabber- 
ing Spanish  to  Rogers.  He  said  he  was  the  only 
white  man  in  the  world  who  could  set  a  broken 
neck,  and  I  guess  he  was.  He  had  learned  the 
trick  from  an  Indian  medicine  man.  I  met  a 
learned  medical  sharp  lately  who  said  the  old  chap 
is  what  they  call  an  '  osteopath  ' — a  bone  and  muscle 
158 


THE      SAILOR      MINE 

specialist.  He  charged  me  twenty-five  dollars,  and 
told  me  to  lie  quiet  for  a  week.  Jenny  Rogers 
nursed  me,  and  of  course  I  fell  in  love  with  her. 
I  was  in  their  cabin,  and  near  by  Mr.  Rogers  had 
located  some  valuable  claims. 

"  Here  is  the  most  remarkable  part  of  this 
story,"  Blake  went  on.  "When  I  was  able  to  dress 
I  picked  up  that  cursed  Mexican  stirrup  to  see  how 
the  leather  happened  to  break.  It  was  a  steel 
affair,  and  I  noticed  some  bright  yellow  spots  in  the 
crevices.  Blamed  if  it  wasn't  gold !  I  didn't  say 
a  word,  but  when  I  was  strong  enough  I  went 
back  and  climbed  slowly  down  the  place  where  my 
horse  fell.  It  was  easy  to  follow  it.  Near  the  edge 
of  the  cliff  I  found  an  outcropping  of  gold-bearing 
ore,  and  the  mark  of  where  the  metal  part  of  rny 
stirrup  had  scratched  it.  I  staked  out  a  claim  and 
sold  it  to  Jenny's  father  for  a  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  thousand  dollars.  He's  made  two  millions  out 
of  it.  I  made  love  to  Jenny,  and  I  think  she  would 
have  had  me,  but  I  went  to  San  Francisco  and 
dropped  the  hundred  and  twenty-five  thousand  on 
the  mining  exchange.  I  went  back  and  asked  Jenny 
to  wait  until  I  made  another  fortune.  She  said  she'd 
think  about  it.  I  guess  she  did.  A  year  later  she 
married  a  man  who  is  now  a  United  States  Senator. 
So  I  broke  my  neck,  lost  my  fortune  and  my  sweet- 
heart all  in  less  than  a  year." 

"And  the  second  fortune?"  questioned  John, 
joining  Jim  in  a  laugh  at  his  multiplied  misfortunes. 


JOHN  BURT 

"Then  I  made  a  strike  on  the  Mariposa  River. 
Sold  my  interest  to  an  English  syndicate  for  ninety- 
five  thousand.  I  went  to  San  Francisco  and  fell  in 
love  with  Lucile  Montrose.  Did  you  ever  see  her, 
John?  No?  Well,  you've  heard  of  her,  of  course. 
She's  an  actress,  or  rather  she  was  an  actress.  Ah, 
Lucile,  Lucile!  She  was  a  dream,  John.  Such 
eyes,  such  pearly  teeth  and  golden  hair!  And  her 
voice  was  like — well,  it  was  great.  And  I  loved  her 
and  she  loved  me,  and  we  were  engaged  to  be  mar- 
ried. I  bought  her  diamond  rings  and  sunbursts, 
and  a  carriage,  and  all  kinds  of  things  until  my 
ninety-five  thousand  had  dwindled  to  fifty  thousand. 
I  argued  with  myself  that  no  such  sum  of  money 
was  sufficient  to  enter  upon  a  matrimonial  career 
with  Lucile,  so  I  decided  to  double  it  by  making  an 
investment  in  Golden  Fleece  mining  stock.  I  lost 
the  fifty  thousand.  With  tears  in  her  beautiful 
eyes,  Lucile  said  she  was  sorry,  and  would  wait  for 
me  to  make  another  fortune.  She  did  not  say  how 
long  she  would  wait,  and  not  hearing  from  me  for 
three  weeks  while  I  was  plugging  away  in  the 
mountains,  she  married  a  one-legged  old  millionaire, 
and  wrote  me  a  letter  saying  she  would  never  cease 
to  love  me." 

"You  certainly  have  been  in  bad  luck,"  said 
John.  "  How  about  the  third  fortune?" 

"Grass  Valley  bequeathed  me  that,"  replied 
Blake.  A  shade  of  regret  swept  across  his  face  as 
he  spoke,  but  the  humor  of  his  disasters  brought  a 

160 


THE      SAILOR      MINE 

smile  to  his  lips.  "  I  located  some  claims  near  Yuba 
City,  and  cleaned  up  forty  thousand  dollars  in  two 
months,  selling  out  for  two  hundred  thousand. 
Then  I  decided  to  invest  my  money  where  I  couldn't 
lose  it;  so  I  built  a  hotel.  It  was  a  fine  hotel,  John.^ 
I  will  show  it  to  you  some  day.  For  a  year  I  was 
the  most  popular  boniface  in  California.  No  hotel 
in  the  world  was  run  on  so  liberal  a  plan.  Guests 
could  cash  checks,  borrow  money,  and  settle  their 
bills  when  they  pleased.  I  suppose,  John,  that  I'm 
the  easiest  mark  that  ever  wore  a  diamond  in  a  shirt- 
front  and  stood  back  of  a  marble  counter.  To 
recoup  my  losses  in  this  palatial  hostelry — and  it 
was  a  dandy,  John,  if  I  did  build  it,  I  took  a  flyer 
with  Katy  D.  You  needn't  look  so  solemn,  John; 
Katy  D.  is  a  mining  stock — or,  rather,  it  was  a 
mining  stock.  I've  got  sixty  thousand  shares  of  it 
yet,  and  I'm  thinking  of  papering  the  walls  of  this 
cabin  with  it.  After  the  hotel  was  sold,  I  had 
enough  left  to  buy  a  set  of  mining  tools  and  to  grub- 
stake myself." 

"And  the  third  sweetheart?"  asked  John. 

"  She  was  a  young  widow  and  rich,"  replied 
Blake.  "  She  was  the  widow  of  old  Colonel  Worth- 
ington,  and  her  first  name  was  Pauline.  They  were 
guests  in  my  hotel,  and  the  colonel  died  there.  He 
left  her  over  a  million,  and  we  were  discussing  the 
wedding  day  when  Katy  D.  wiped  me  out  of  finan- 
cial existence.  Pauline  was  true  to  me  in  spite  of 
this  disaster,  and  offered  to  take  me  as  I  was,  but  I 


JOHN  BURT 

don't  want  a  woman  to  support  me.  So  I  bade  her 
a  tearful  farewell,  started  out  to  make  my  fourth 
fortune,  and  here  I  am." 

"And  what  have  you  now?" 

"This  mountain  chateau,"  replied  Blake  with  a 
lordly  sweep  of  his  arm,  "  and  a  hole  in  the  ground 
back  of  it.  Then  I  have  a  fine  view  of  the  valley,  a 
good  appetite,  a  slumbering  conscience,  and — and 
Dog,  here,  who  never  upbraids  me  for  being  seven 
kinds  of  a  fool." 

"You  needn't  fear  that  I  shall  lecture  you," 
said  John  Burt.  "It's  no  crime  to  be  liberal,  and 
from  your  account  your  reverses  were  caused  by  too 
much  generosity  and  not  enough  caution.  But 
we're  both  young,  Jim,  and  a  few  knockdowns  won't 
hurt  one  who  has  health,  vigor  and  ambition.  I 
want  you  to  look  at  a  map  I  have  in  my  overcoat 
pocket." 

John  told  the  story  of  the  dying  sailor  and  his 
map,  and  read  an  extract  from  Peter  Burt's  letter. 
Then  he  produced  the  map,  and  they  spread  it  out  on 
the  table  and  examined  it  by  the  ljght  of  the  lantern. 
It  was  roughly  drawn,  but  Blake  soon  got  the  lay 
of  it,  and  placed  it  so  as  to  conform  to  the  points 
of  the  compass. 

"I  followed  the  trail  all  right,"  explained  John, 
"until  the  storm  set  in,  and  then  I  had  to  feel  my 
way.  Before  I  lost  my  bearings  I  was  about  two 
miles  from  the  point  where  this  sailor  claims  to 
have  found  gold.  I  kept  near  the  edge  of  the  cliff 
162 


THE      SAILOR      MINE 

until  I  could  go  no  further,  and  then  curled  up 
behind  that  rock  in  the  hope  that  the  storm  would 
cease." 

Blake  studied  the  map  with  growing  interest 
and  excitement.  With  a  splinter  from  a  log  as  a 
marker,  he  traced  the  trail. 

"I  know  every  foot  of  it! "  he  exclaimed,  rest- 
ing the  point  of  the  splinter  on  a  round  spot  on  the 
map.  "  Here  is  Fisher's  Lake.  Every  one  knows 
where  that  is.  You  came  that  far  by  stage.  Here 
is  the  creek  which  you  follow  for  seven  miles  until 
you  come  to  the  old  Wormley  trail.  You  take  that 
to  the  cliffs,  and  go  along  the  cliffs  until  you  cross 
four  brooks  and  come  to  the  fifth  one.  You  were 
were  within  a  hundred  yards  of  that  fifth  stream, 
John.  Now  let's  see  the  key  to  this  thing." 

John  handed  him  the  letter. 

"'From  the  east  face  of  the  square  rock,  on  the 
north  bank  of  the  brook,  at  the  edge  of  the  cliff,'"  read 
Blake.  "  I  know  the  rock  well.  Let's  see.  '  Thence 
east  along  the  bank  of  the  brook  in  a  straight  line  four 
hundred  and  twenty-two  feet,  and  then  north  at  right 
angles,  sixty-seven  feet  to  the  base  of  the  tallest  pine  in  the 
neighborhood." 

Blake  rushed  to  the  door,  forgetful  of  the 
storm,  to  verify  his  suspicions.  He  pushed  it  open 
an  inch,  but  a  solid  bank  of  snow  blocked  the  way. 

"Where  do  you  suppose  the  base  of  that  pine 
tree  is?"  he  demanded.  Without  waiting  for  a 
reply  he  found  a  hatchet  and  tapped  the  clay  floor 

163 


JOHN  BURT 

until  he  located  a  spot  which  gave  a  deadened 
sound.  Then  he  chopped  away  a  few  inches  of 
packed  dirt  and  sank  the  blade  into  a  solid  sub- 
stance. 

"  There's  the  base  of  the  big  pine  tree  described 
by  your  dead  sailor,  and  I'll  bet  my  life  on  it!"  he 
snouted.  "And  here  are  sections  of  the  tree,"  he 
continued,  pointing  to  the  logs  which  formed  the 
foundation  of  the  cabin.  "  I'm  dead  sure  of  it, 
John.  It's  about  a  hundred  and  forty  yards  from 
here  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff.  I  know,  for  I  meas- 
ured it.  And  its  about  twenty  yards  to  the  brook. 
What  is  more  conclusive,  this  was  by  far  the  largest 
tree  anywhere  around.  That's  why  I  located  the 
cabin  here.  Let's  see  what  comes  next !"  His  eyes 
glistened  with  excitement. 

The  instructions  were  to  measure  three  hun- 
dred and  eighteen  feet  north  from  the  base  of  the 
tree  and  thence  east  to  a  carefully  described  rock, 
which  Blake  remembered.  This  was  at  the  base  of 
the  incline.  Within  a  hundred  yards  of  this  rock 
the  key  located  three  gold-bearing  quartz  ledges. 

11  I've  been  past  it  a  hundred  times.  I've 
^  struck  a  pick  all  around  there  and  never  found 
ore,"  said  Blake  reflectively,  "but  that  proves  noth- 
ing. A  thousand  people  walked  over  the  Little 
Calaveras  before  I  found  the  gilt.  There's  no  use 
worrying  about  it ;  if  it's  there  it  will  stay  there,  and 
we  must  wait  until  the  storm  is  over  before  we  can 
find  it  out.  Wall,  John,"  he  concluded,  relapsing 


THE      SAILOR      MINE 

to   the   familiar  Yankee    drawl,   " '  don't   this   beat 
time,'  as  Uncle  Toby  Haynes  used  to  say?" 

"  It  certainly  is  remarkable,"  said  John  Burt, 
folding  the  map.  "  How  did  you  happen  to  select 
this  particular  spot,  Jim  ?  " 

"  Just  happened  to — that's  all,"  was  the  laconic 
reply.  "  I've  trailed  up  and  down  the  river  several 
times,  and  this  ridge  struck  my  notion,  so  I  thought 
I'd  try  it.  I  took  a  little  good  quartz  out  of 
the  mouth  of  my  tunnel,  but  the  lead  disappeared, 
and  I've  been  boring  in  for  months  trying  to  strike 
it  again.  I  laid  out  claims  all  along  here,  but  this  one 
seemed  the  most  likely.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I've 
depended  on  my  luck,  and  so  far  it  has  never  failed 
me." 

"  I  suppose  your  claims  cover  the  ground 
indicated  on  this  map,  don't  they?"  asked  John. 

"  It  don't  make  a  bit  of  difference  whether  they 
do  or  not,"  asserted  Blake  with  much  vigor.  "If 
you  find  ore,  the  claim  is  yours,  John,  and 
don't  you  forget  it!  If  this  old  tunnel  of  mine 
failed,  I  should  never  have  begun  another  one.  So 
go  ahead,  and  good  luck  to  you  !  You  can  share  my 
cabin  and  have  anything  I've  got." 

"  Suppose  we  go  partners  in  the  Sailor  Mine," 
suggested  John.  "  I  have  a  tidy  sum  of  money 
that  we  can  use  if  necessary,  and  I'll  offset  that  and 
the  map  against  your  claim  and  experience.  That 
strikes  me  as  fair,  old  man.  What  do  you  say, 
Jim?" 

165 


JOHN  BURT 

"  It's  not  fair  to  you,  John,  but  I'll  gladly  accept 
and  here's  my  hand  on  itl  " 

Thus  was  formed  the  mining  firm  of  Burton  & 
Blake,  John  assuming  the  name  of  Burton  for 
reasons  apparent  enough. 

During  the  night  the  white  flakes  turned  to 
sleet  and  rain,  and  cleared  ofF  with  zero  weather, 
leaving  a  heavy  crust  on  the  snow.  After  breakfast 
they  set  about  locating  the  sailor's  vein.  In  less 
than  an  hour  Jim  Blake  sunk  his  pick  into  a  quartz 
rock  which  showed  free  gold.  John's  knowledge 
of  mineralogy  was  theoretical,  but  the  subject 
was  part  of  his  course  at  Harvard,  and  he  had 
studied  his  text-books  assiduously  during  the  long 
sea  voyage.  While  Jim  was  gloating  over  his  find, 
John  appeared  from  behind  a  ledge.  He  handed 
Blake  a  nugget  which  weighed  fully  ten  pounds, 
and  a  glance — to  say  nothing  of  the  weight — 
showed  it  to  be  almost  solid  gold.  Blake  grasped 
it,  devoured  its  dull  gloss  with  sparkling  eyes,  and 
hurled  his  hat  high  in  the  air. 

"We  are  rich!  We  are  rich!"  he  shouted 
until  the  rocks  resounded.  "Monte  Cristo  was  a 
beggar  compared  with  Burton  &  Blake !  Hurrah 
for  the  Sailor  Mine !  Hurrah  for  the  Sailor  Mine 
and  John  Burt !  You  can't  keep  a  good  man 
down !  Hurrah  1 " 


166 


CHAPTER        SIXTEEN 

THE  QUEST  FOR  GOLD 

THE  location  of  the  Sailor  Mine  was  an  ideal 
one.  The  brook  was  fed  by  perpetual 
snows,  and  furnished  plenty  of  water.  The 
broad  edge  of  the  cliff  formed  a  natural  road  with 
an  easy  grade  to  the  Wormley  Trail.  This  led  into 
the  valley,  and  connected  with  the  stage  road,  which 
wound  its  way  to  Auburn.  John  Burt  studied  the 
situation  and  grasped  its  topographical  advantages. 
He  conjured  a  village  in  the  valley  below,  and  men- 
tally crested  the  ridges  with  mining  mills  and  ma- 
chinery. 

The  two  young  giants  performed  wonders  in 
the  three  weeks  which  followed  their  discovery  of 
gold.  Glowing  with  health  and  strength,  and  in- 
spired by  ambition,  they  gnawed  ragged  holes  into 
the  side  of  the  mountains  with  their  picks  and 
drills.  No  storm  was  wild  enough  to  call  a  halt. 
John  Burt  made  rough  tests  of  the  quartz,  and 
after  generous  allowance  for  all  possible  errors  it 
showed  results  which  surpassed  their  highest  expec- 
tations. Several  nuggets  were  found,  but  these 
were  of  small  value  compared  with  the  broad 
stratum  of  ore  which  opened  out  from  the  spot 
selected  by  John  Burt.  The  claim  chosen  by  Blake 
soon  exhausted  itself,  and  he  turned  his  attention  to 
the  third,  expressing  a  fear  that  he  was  a  "hoodoo." 

"  But  '  there's  luck  in  odd  numbers  says  Rory 
O'Moore,' "  sang  Blake  as  he  poised  on  a  shelving 

167 


JOHN  BURT 

ledge  and  vigorously  drove  a  crowbar  into  a  crevice. 
Ere  the  sun  dropped  below  the  range  he  had  un- 
covered another  wide,  deep  vein  of  gold-bearing 
quartz. 

Turning  towards  the  cabin,  he  saw  over  his 
right  shoulder  the  thin  white  rim  of  the  new  moon, 
hanging  like  a  silver  sickle  in  the  deep  blue  of  the 
sky.  The  line  of  the  opposite  horns  of  this  gleam- 
ing crescent  was  perpendicular  to  the  horizon.  To 
the  farmer  this  is  the  "  wet  moon,"  the  harbinger 
of  abundant  harvests.  The  adventurer,  gambler, 
or  miner  looks  on  Luna,  when  thus  seen  for  the 
first  time,  as  the  sure  augury  of  luck.  Blake  was 
possessed  of  that  buoyant,  elastic  type  of  super- 
stition which  affirms  faith  in  favorable  portents 
and  spurns  all  others  as  unworthy  of  credence.  As 
a  schoolboy  the  fables  of  mythology  made  more 
impression  on  him  than  did  historical  facts,  but  he 
worshipped  none  but  propitious  gods.  Singing  in 
a  voice  which  awoke  the  echoes,  he  made  his  way 
between  the  rocks,  his  fine  face  lighted  by  the  last 
glow  of  the  twilight.  A  battered  sledge  was  thrown 
across  his  shoulder,  and  his  figure  seemed  magni- 
fied in  the  uncertain  light.  Graceful  in  his  strength, 
he  looked  like  a  follower  of  Vulcan  returning  from 
a  quest  for  metals  demanded  by  that  immortal 
craftsman,  or  like  some  mountain  god  yielding 
proud  allegiance  only  to  Jupiter  himself. 

The  spring  rains  set  in,  and  the  brook  became 
a  foaming,  thundering  torrent.  Avalanches  tore 

z  68 


THE     QUEST     FOR     GOLD 

down  the  mountain-sides,  plowed  their  way  over  the 
cliff,  and,  with  a  roar  which  shook  the  cabin,  hurled 
themselves  into  the  valley.  The  pine  trees  lost  their 
plumes  of  snow,  and  sang  in  a  higher  key  the  refrain 
which  told  of  relief  from  burdens  carried  complain- 
ingly  for  months.  The  magic  of  drenching  rains 
and  warm  south  winds  checkered  the  snow-clad  foot- 
hills with  patches  of  brown.  Nature  was  shrouded 
in  warm,  clinging  mist ;  ten  thousand  rivulets  spurted 
into  life  as  the  sun  beat  upon  the  hills ;  and  winter 
vanished  from  the  valley  as  clouds  fade  from  a  sum- 
mer sky. 

Piled  in  gray  heaps  near  the  tunnel  was  ore 
worth  not  less  than  forty  thousand  dollars.  With 
the  flight  of  the  snow  and  the  birth  of  spring,  Blake 
wearied  of  his  task  and  longed  for  its  rewards. 

"Tell  you  what  let's  do,  John,"  he  said  one 
night  after  supper.  "  Let's  go  to  Auburn  and 
negotiate  for  the  sale  of  these  mines.  We  can't 
work  them  ourselves.  I'm  all  right  when  it  comes 
to  prospecting  and  opening  up  a  mine,  but  I've  no 
taste  for  sticking  to  it.  My  plan  is  to  realize  what 
you  can,  and  let  some  one  else  do  the  hard  work. 
We  ought  to  get  big  money  for  the  Sailor,  John." 

"How  much?"  asked  John  after  a  moment's 
pause. 

"Half  a  million,"  replied  Blake  positively,  with 
a  loving  accent  on  the  "  million."  "  Half  a  million  is 
dead  cheap.  Don't  you  think  so,  John?" 

"I  shall  not  sell  my  interest — at  least,  not  at 
•  169 


JOHN  BURT 

present,"  said  John  Burt,  "and  I  advise  you  not  to. 
We  can  handle  this  property  without  trouble,  and 
make  more  in  developing  it  than  by  selling  it.  I 
have  nearly  ten  thousand  dollars  in  cash.  In  a  few 
months  we  can  convert  the  ore  already  extracted 
into  gold.  I  believe  the  mine  will  yield  three  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars  profit  the  first  year.  That's 
the  wiser  plan,  Jim.  Besides,  I  doubt  if  we  can  get 
an  offer  of  half  a  million." 

"We  can  try,  John,"  said  Blake  hopefully. 
"Two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars  is  a  lot 
of  money.  I  would  take  it  in  a  minute  if  I  could 
get  it." 

They  discussed  the  matter  for  hours,  but  Blake 
would  not  recede  from  his  position.  John  did  not 
urge  him  to  the  contrary,  but  calmly  presented  the 
facts  as  he  saw  them.  Dangling  before  Blake's 
eyes  was  a  purse  containing  two  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  dollars,  to  be  obtained  without  further 
work  or  worry.  It  meant  pleasure,  affluence,  ease, 
liberty — it  was  enough.  Not  so  with  John  Burt. 
When  the  rock  crumbled  beneath  the  first  blow  of 
his  pick,  and  the  ten  pound  nugget  gleamed  in  the 
shale,  he  recalled  the  parting  words  of  Peter  Burt 
quoting  the  language  of  Isaiah:  "I  will  give  thee 
the  treasures  of  darkness  and  the  hidden  riches  of 
secret  places." 

Superstition,  in  the  ordinary  sense,  had  no  hold 
on  John  Burt ;  but  he  had  an  abiding  faith  in  his 
destiny.  The  dying  sailor  and  his  crude  map  was  a 
170 


THE     QUEST     FOR     GOLD 

part  of  it.  His  stern  old  grandfather  was  the  oracle 
of  his  fortunes,  and  the  lonely  rock  behind  the 
graveyard  was  the  Delphi  from  which  the  message 
was  delivered. 

With  a  faith  sublime  as  that  which  inspired 
Orpheus,  he  believed  that  Jessie  Garden  was  linked 
to  him  in  ties  which  time  and  distance  could  not 
sunder.  Fate  also  had  created  Arthur  Morris,  not 
as  a  stumbling-block,  but  as  a  stepping-stone  to  his 
advancement.  He  looked  on  Morris  not  with 
hatred,  but  with  pity. 

But  why  had  James  Blake  been  thrust  into  his 
career?  Surely  it  was  not  an  unreasoning  chance 
that  decreed  that  Blake  should  rear  his  hut  on  the 
very  spot  marked  by  the  trembling  hand  of  the 
sailor.  John  read  his  partner  as  he  read  his  own 
thoughts.  He  fathomed  the  man's  weaknesses,  and 
while  he  could  not  admire  them,  he  thought  none 
the  less  of  the  companion  of  his  boyhood.  But  he 
could  not  allow  Blake  to  stand  in  his  way.  The 
mining  partnership  so  strangely  formed  could  be 
nothing  more  than  a  temporary  arrangement,  but 
John  Burt  was  determined  that  in  its  sundering  no 
advantages  should  be  sacrificed.  He  was  resolved 
to  protect  Blake's  interests,  and  equally  resolved  to 
conserve  his  own. 

"We'll  talk  no  more  abcut  this  matter  to- 
night, Jim,"  he  said,  when  Blake  had  finished  tell- 
ing of  the  great  things  which  could  be  accom- 
plished with  a  quarter  of  a  million  dollars.  "I'll 

171 


JOHN  BURT 

think  it  over  for  two  or  three  days,  and  then  we'll 
take  the  question  up  and  decide  it.  We  could  not 
reach  Auburn  now  if  we  tried.  Wait  until  the 
floods  subside.  The  more  we  dig,  the  more  the 
mines  will  sell  for." 

Blake  curbed  his  impatience  and  worked  and 
waited.  He  knew  John  Burt  well  enough  not  to 
mention  the  topic  during  the  days  which  followed. 

One  evening,  after  supper,  John  spent  an  hour 
or  more  figuring  in  an  old  note-book.  Jim  smoked, 
and  the  dog  dozed  by  the  fire. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  still  determined  to  sell  your 
share  in  these  mines,  Jim?"  said  John,  putting  the 
book  in  his  pocket  and  lighting  his  pipe. 

"  I  am,  if  I  can  get  an  offer  of  a  quarter  of  a 
million,"  replied  Jim. 

"You're  making  a  mistake,  old  man,"  said 
John  Burt,  laying  his  hand  on  his  friend's  shoulder, 
"  but  you  have  as  much  right  to  your  opinion  as  I 
have  to  mine.  So  we  will  call  that  settled.  I  told 
you  I  would  make  you  a  proposition,  and  here  it  is. 
There  are  two  mines,  and  they  look  equally  promis- 
ing. I  propose  that  you  take  one  and  I  take  the 
other.  We  will  call  the  south  one  '  Sailor  A,'  and 
the  north  '  Sailor  B.'  You  can  have  your  choice." 

"That's  not  fair! "  said  Jim.  "  I'll  play  you  a 
game  of  seven-up  for  the  first  choice ;  three  games 
of  ten  points  each— best  two  out  of  three  to  take 
first  choice." 

"All  right,"  responded  John,  as  Blake  pro- 
17* 


THE     QUEST     FOR     GOLD 

duced  a  well-worn  pack  of  cards  and  shuffled  them. 
"  But  before  we  play,  let  me  finish  my  proposition. 
You  wish  to  sell  your  claims  for  two  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  if  you  can  find  a  purchaser.  Will 
you  give  me  an  option  on  your  claim?  You  should 
be  able  to  get  along  for  sixty  days  with  five  thousand  ' 
dollars  in  cash.  I  doubt  if  you  can  close  so  large  a 
deal  in  less  time.  I'll  give  you  five  thousand  in 
cash  for  the  following  option  on  your  claim — you 
to  deed  me  all  your  rights  in  consideration  of  one 
hundred  thousand  dollars,  payable  in  sixty  days 
from  this  date ;  one  hundred  thousand  payable  in 
six  months  from  date,  and  one  hundred  thousand 
payable  one  year  from  date.  And " 

"  You  bet  your  life  I  will,"  interrupted  Blake, 
extending  his  hand.  "  For  your  sake,  John,  I 
hope  you'll  win,  and  I  believe  you  will.  I'd  rather 
see  you  make  money  out  of  these  mines  than  any 
one  in  the  world ;  but  doggone  it,  John,  I  haven't 
the  patience  or  ability  to  run  a  mine.  Guess  I'm 
lazy.  Make  it  two  thousand  in  cash,  John.  That 
will  be  enough.  I  can  get  along  on  a  thousand  a 
month  if  I  let  the  mining  exchange  alone,  and  I'm, 
going  to.  Make  it  two  thousand  and  I'll  go  you." 

"We  will  call  it  twenty-five  hundred,  and  you 
can  have  the  other  twenty-five  hundred  if  you  need 
it,"  said  John  smiling.  "  But  I  had  not  finished. 
You  shall  have  one-half  of  the  proceeds  from  the 
sale  of  the  ore  already  mined.  That  should  net 
you  $25,000.  You  need  not  shake  your  head.  In 

173 


JOHN  BURT 

any  arrangement  I  may  make  with  outsiders,  you 
shall  have  ten  per  cent,  of  all  profits  payable  to  me. 
There's  no  use  protesting.  That  clause  goes  in,  or 
the  deal  is  off.  There's  nothing  generous  about  it. 
It's  a  pure  matter  of  fairness.  I  may  fail  in  my 
efforts,  and  thus  prevent  your  negotiating  an  advan- 
tageous sale.  If  I  succeed,  ten  per  cent,  will  give 
you  a  steady  revenue  for  years.  I  wish  to  feel  that 
you  will  always  have  an  interest  in  the  Sailor  Mine." 

"All  right,  John,"  said  Jim,  finally.  "  You're  a 
stubborn  man  to  do  business  with.  Now  we'll  play 
that  game  of  seven-up." 

Blake  won  the  first  game  and  John  the  second. 
In  the  third  game  John  had  two  to  go,  and  Blake 
lacked  six  points.  It  was  his  deal.  He  turned  two 
jacks  before  the  trump  was  selected,  and  then  made 
high,  low,  jack,  and  the  game,  and  won  the  rubber 
and  the  first  choice. 

"  Lucky  in  cards,  unlucky  in  love,"  laughed 
Blake  as  he  arose  from  the  table.  "  Sailor  A  is 
mine — subject  to  your  option,  John." 

John  drew  up  an  agreement  and  an  option, 
which  both  signed,  and  the  firm  of  Burton  &  Blake 
was  dissolved.  Blake  accepted  twenty-five  hundred 
dollars  in  cash,  and  three  days  later  both  arrived  in 
the  little  mining  town  of  Auburn,  from  which  they 
sent  a  trustworthy  man  back  to  the  cabin,  to  remain 
on  guard  until  John  Burt  returned. 

Bidding  Blake  adieu  for  a  week  or  more,  Burt 
proceeded  to  San  Francisco. 


CHAPTER        SEVENTEEN 

THE  CAPITALIST 

JOHN  BURT  was  without  experience  in  financial 
affairs;  a  stranger  in  San  Francisco,  lacking 

endorsements  or  credentials ;  a  fugitive  under 
an  assumed  name ;  yet  he  faced  the  situation  with 
confidence.  He  believed  that  the  Sailor  Mine  was 
destined  to  be  the  basis  of  his  fortune.  The  exist- 
ence of  the  quartz  veins  was  a  physical  fact — his 
realization  of  wealth  from  them  was  a  question  of 
generalship,  judgment  and  strategy. 

He  engaged  rooms  in  the  Palace  Hotel — regis- 
tering under  the  name  of  John  Burton — and  made 
inquiries  concerning  the  leading  mining  experts  of 
the  city.  He  learned  that  one  of  them  was  a  grad- 
uate of  Harvard.  John  Burt  had  passed  only  a 
year  within  the  walls  of  the  great  university,  but  he 
had  absorbed  its  traditions,  and  looked  upon  it  as 
his  alma  mater.  He  therefore  decided  to  present 
his  case  to  David  Parker.  He  wrote  the  famous 
expert  a  brief  letter,  and  was  duly  accorded  an 
interview. 

David  Parker  was  a  man  of  forty,  who  had 
secured  a  commanding  position  in  his  calling.  He 
was  of  medium  height  and  of  sturdy  figure.  A  well- 
shaped  head;  pale  blue  eyes  beneath  shadowing 
lashes;  a  smooth  face;  thin,  straight  lips;  a  project- 
ing jaw,  scarred  as  from  a  knife  thrust;  a  careful 
smile,  a  grip  of  iron,  and  a  cautiousness  in  speech 
which  amounted  almost  to  an  impediment — such  is 

17S 


JOHN  BURT 

a  crude  sketch  of  David  Parker,  mining  expert  and 
civil  and  mechanical  engineer. 

During  the  brief  preliminary  conversation,  John 
Burt  studied  David  Parker  and  decided  to  trust 
him.  Then  he  related  the  story  of  the  discovery  of 
the  Sailor  Mine. 

"I  have  always  believed  that  those  hills — that 
those  hills — contained  gold,"  said  David  Parker 
hesitatingly.  He  paused  and  idly  scrawled  geo- 
metrical figures  on  a  paper  pad.  "  Why — why  do 
you  come  to — to  me,  Mr.  Burton?"  he  asked,  look- 
ing up.  "I  am  not  an — an  investor.  I'm  an  expert 
— at  least,  an — an  alleged  expert." 

"I  wish  you  to  refer  me  to  an  investor,"  replied 
John  Burt.  "As  I  have  told  you,  I'm  a  stranger  in 
San  Francisco,  and  have  no  time  to  spend  looking 
for  an  honest  investor.  You  are  an  expert  in  metals 
and  should  be  in  capitalists.  You  know  them;  I 
don't.  I'm  willing  to  pay  your  rate  for  expert  in- 
formation on  the  subject  of  trustworthy  capital." 

"Go  and  see  John  Hawkins,"  said  David  Par- 
ker, as  a  faint  smile  froze  on  his  face.  "  This  is 
hardly — professional,  you  know,  Mr.  Burton,  but  I 
will  do  it.  Do  not  use  my  name.  Mr.  Hawkins 
will  see  you  and — and  talk  with  you.  If  he  says  he 
will  do  a  thing  he — he  will  do  it.  He  may — he  may 
do  a  thing  if  he  says  he  won't.  He  is  honest — but 
hard — hard  as  granite.  I  hope  you  may  succeed 
with  him — Mr.  Burton.  My  fee?  Nothing— not  a 
dollar.  This  is  strictly — strictly  unprofessional, 
176 


THE        CAPITALIST 

Mr.  Burton.  We  will  charge  it — charge  it  to  the 
old  college.  Good  day,  Mr.  Burton.  Let  me  know 
how  you  succeed.  If  you  and — Mr.  Hawkins  can- 
not come  to  terms,  I — I  might  refer  you  to  others. 
Good  day;  good  day,  sir — and  good  luck!" 

As  David  Parker  predicted,  John  Burt  had  lit- 
tle trouble  in  securing  an  interview  with  John  Haw- 
kins, millionaire  mine  owner  and  investor. 

There  was  a  democracy  pervading  the  Hawkins 
office  not  in  keeping  with  its  palatial  fittings.  The 
walls  above  the  carved  mahogany  wainscoting  were 
hung  with  tapestry  and  adorned  with  paintings  set 
in  massive  gilt  frames.  In  the  public  reception- 
room  was  a  marble  fountain,  and  the  musical  splash 
of  its  water  was  soothing.  The  eye  was  greeted 
by  palms,  ferns,  bits  of  bronze,  and  expensive  bric- 
a-brac.  The  air  was  heavy  with  tobacco  smoke,  and 
from  an  inner  room  came  the  sound  of  voices  and 
boisterous  laughter. 

John  Burt  wrote  the  name  "  John  Burton  "  on 
a  card,  and  gave  it  to  an  attendant.  Two  burly 
men  stood  in  the  doorway,  pausing  to  make  some 
parting  remark,  which  was  followed  by  roars  of 
merriment.  The  attendant  brushed  past  them  as 
they  closed  the  door. 

"Tell  him  to  come  in,"  was  the  order  given  in 
a  voice  sonorous  through  the  heavy  partition. 

Seated  at  an  oak  desk  was  one  of  those  men 
whom  nature  occasionally  designs  for  the  purpose 
of  keeping  the  present  in  touch  with  the  dim  past, 

17? 


JOHN  BURT 

when  giants  communed  with  mortals.  No  artist 
could  look  on  John  Hawkins  and  deride  the  fables 
which  tell  of  the  proportions  of  Hercules,  or  depict 
the  physical  majesty  of  the  bearded  gods  of  Olym- 
j  pus.  The  great  oak  chair  in  which  he  sat  groaned 
beneath  his  weight,  as  he  turned  and  looked  at  John 
Burt.  Above  a  bulging  forehead  was  a  mass  of  iron 
gray  hair  which  fell  nearly  to  his  shoulders.  The 
long,  full  beard  was  of  a  tawny  shade,  and  the 
mouth  was  hidden  by  a  sweeping  moustache  of  the 
same  cast.  Steel-gray  eyes  rested  beneath  bushy 
masses  of  eyebrows,  and  were  parted  by  a  nose  which 
once  might  have  belonged  to  Odin.  The  thought 
of  this  stern  old  Norse-god  came  to  John  Burt  as 
he  looked  into  those  eyes — eyes  which  had  in  their 
depths  ceaseless  ambition,  relentless  energy,  merci- 
less courage,  and  that  calm  mastery  which  comes 
from  complacent  introspection — the  confidence  born 
of  justifiable  egotism;  the  consciousness  of  general- 
ship by  birthright. 

So  striking  was  Hawkins'  resemblance  to  Odin 
that  John  would  have  been  little  surprised  to  have 
seen  perched  on  his  shoulders  the  ravens  Hugin  and 
Munin,  whose  fabled  duty  it  is  to  fly  every  day  over 
.the  world  and  report  to  their  master  all  they  have 
seen  and  heard.  But  a  stock  ticker  at  his  right  hand, 
and  telegraph  instruments  in  the  outer  room,  were 
the  modern  message  bearers,  more  rapid  and  accur- 
ate than  the  mythological  ravens,  and  cruel  at  times 
as  the  wolves  Geri  and  Freki,  who  sit  at  Odin's  feet 
178 


THE          CAPITALIST 

The  modern  knight,  in  these  degenerate  days, 
is  the  one  who  boldly  shies  his  castor  into  a  count- 
ing-room, or  faces  with  unlowered  eyes  and  unruffled 
mien  those  moneyed  gods  who  rule  mankind  and 
launch  the  thunderbolts  of  gold. 

John  Hurt's  education  in  the  etiquette  of  ser- 
vility and  in  adulation  of  material  things  was  singu- 
larly defective.  This  may  have  been  due  to  his 
country  training.  The  year  spent  in  the  democracy 
which  permeates  Harvard  had  not  lessened  his  self- 
reliance.  It  never  occurred  to  John  Burt  that  he 
should  stand  in  awe  of  the  Hawkins  millions.  He 
was  impressed  by  the  leonine  head  and  gigantic 
proportions  of  the  magnate,  as  an  artist  is  when  he 
contemplates  for  the  first  time  some  stupendous 
work  of  nature.  He  returned  the  great  man's  gaze, 
before  which  most  strangers  quailed  and  faltered, 
with  an  answering  look  which  calmly  asserted  an 
equality,  yielding  deference  only  to  a  seniority  of 
years. 

John  Hawkins  threw  his  head  back,  and  for  a 
moment  silently  surveyed  his  visitor  as  a  foe  meas- 
ures his  opponent.  This  attitude  is  as  instinctive 
to  the  man  of  wealth  as  is  the  crouch  of  the  tiger 
when  hungry  rivals  approach  his  slaughtered  quarry. 

John  Hawkins  looked  on  no  stripling.  The 
bronzed  and  bearded  man  who  faced  him  stood  erect 
in  the  symmetrical  proportions  of  two  hundred 
pounds  of  bone,  sinew,  and  muscle. 

"How  do  you  do?  What  can  I  do  for  you, 

179 


JOHN  BURT 

sir?  Take  a  chair."  Mr.  Hawkins  glanced  again 
at  the  card,  tossed  it  on  his  desk,  and  wheeled  and 
confronted  John  Burt,  who  had  accepted  this  gruff 
invitation. 

"  I  own  or  control  some  recently  discovered 
gold  mines,  and  am  in  San  Francisco  for  the  pur- 
pose of  interesting  capital  in  their  development," 
said  John  Burt.  u  I  am  informed  that  you  are  an 
investor  in  mining  property.  I  am  in  a  position  to 
submit  propositions  which  may  result  to  our  mutual 
advantage." 

"Where  are  they?"  growled  Mr.  John  Haw- 
kins. 

For  an  answer  John  stepped  behind  the  capi- 
talist and  placed  his  fingers  on  a  point  indicated  on 
a  large  map  of  California  which  hung  on  the  wall. 

"  They  are  located  on  the  west  slope  of  the 
Sierra  Nevadas,  at  an  altitude  of  about  two  thous- 
and feet  above  the  river,  five  miles  south  of  the 
Wormley  Trail,"  said  John.  "  Here  is  a  rough 
detailed  map  of  the  surroundings."  He  handed 
the  chart  to  Mr.  Hawkins. 

"There's  no  gold  there — not  an  ounce,"  de- 
clared the  magnate.  "  You  have  found  a  mare's 
nest,  young  man.  I  looked  that  country  over  ten 
years  ago.  There's  no  gold  there." 

"  My  partner  and  I  have  extracted  forty  thous- 
and dollars'  worth  of  high-grade  ore  there  in  three 
weeks,"  said  John  Burt  quietly.  "  Here  is  a  speci- 
men of  it.  Here  is  sc.nething  else."  He  placed  a 

180 


THE          CAPITALIST 

sample  of  ore  and  the  ten-pound  nugget  in  Haw- 
kins'  outstretched  palm. 

At  the  sight  of  the  ore,  and  of  the  dull  gloss  of 
the  nugget,  a  wonderful  transformation  took  place 
in  John  Hawkins.  The  air  of  bored  indifference 
vanished.  He  gazed  at  the  ore  with  the  rapt  look 
of  an  enthusiast.  The  weight  of  the  nugget  told 
its  own  story. 

For  two  minutes  he  poised  them  in  his  hands 
and  said  nothing. 

Then  he  turned  and  studied  the  map  on  the 
wall,  tracing  with  his  huge  forefinger  the  thin  line 
of  the  brook  to  its  juncture  with  the  river.  He 
then  consulted  a  colored  chart,  humming  the  while 
a  nondescript  air  in  a  tone  which  sounded  like  the 
purring  of  a  Bengal  tiger. 

"  Go  ahead  and  tell  me  about  this,"  he  said 
abruptly.  "You  look  like  an  honest  man,  and  it's 
a  waste  of  time  to  lie  to  me.  How  did  you  hap- 
pen to  strike  ore  in  those  hills?  They  say  that 
gold  is  where  it's  found,  and  I'll  be  darned  if  this 
don't  look  like  it!  What  have  you  got,  and  how 
did  you  get  it?" 

In  a  matter  of  fact  way  John  Burt  related  the 
story  of  the  discovery  and  development  of  the 
Sailor  Mine.  He  named  the  terms  of  the  Blake 
option,  and  answered  without  hesitation  the  pointed 
questions  asked  by  John  Hawkins. 

"This  may  be  worth  looking  into,"  said  the 
capitalist,  as  he  ran  his  hand  through  his  tawny 

181 


JOHN  BURT 

gray  hair.  "  I'll  send  an  expert  to  investigate  it 
and  make  a  report."  He  rang  a  beil  and  a  boy 
responded.  "  Go  and  tell  David  Parker  I  want 
him,"  he  ordered. 

51  Until  we  have  arrived  at  some  tentative 
agreement  or  understanding,  I  don't  care  to  have 
your  expert  examine  this  property,"  said  John 
Burt,  when  the  boy  had  closed  the  door. 

Mr.  Hawkins  glared  at  him  in  amazement. 

"  Your  expert  will  find  one  of  two  things — 
either  that  my  estimate  of  these  claims  is  accurate, 
or  that  it  is  not,"  continued  John  Burt  calmly.  "In 
the  latter  event  you  would  drop  the  matter.  If,  on 
the  contrary,  your  expert  confirms  my  estimate — as 
he  will — it  then  becomes  necessary  to  act  under  a 
definite  understanding.  The  terms  of  such  an 
agreement  should  be  settled  before  your  expert  be- 
gins his  work.  In  brief,  the  question  is  this. 
What  agreement  will  you  make,  assuming  that  your 
expert  confirms  my  statements?  We  can  settle 
that  matter  now  as  well  as  in  two  weeks  from  now, 
and  it  will  save  time  and  avoid  friction." 

"That  sounds  like  business,"  roared  John 
Hawkins,  a  gleam  of  admiration  for  an  opponent 
worthy  of  his  attention  showing  in  his  eyes. 
"  That's  the  way  I  like  to  hear  a  man  talk.  Make 
your  proposition.  You're  selling;  I'm  buying. 
What's  your  terms?  Let's  have  them." 

"  You  will  assume  the  payments  on  the  Blake 

option,  which  amount  to  three  hundred  thousand 
182 


THE          CAPITALIST 

dollars,"  said  John,  noting  the  amount  on  a  memo- 
randum pad.  "  In  addition  to  that,  you  will  ad- 
vance the  money  necessary  for  the  development  of 
the  property  and  for  the  handling  of  the  ore. 
Fifty  per  cent,  of  the  net  profits  will  revert  to  you 
until  the  money  paid  to  Blake  is  refunded.  In  con- 
sideration of  the  capital  thus  advanced,  your  inter- 
est in  the  property  will  amount  to  forty  per  cent, 
and  mine  to  sixty  per  cent.  These  are  my  terms, 
and  the  only  ones  on  which  I  will  part  with  my  in- 
terest in  the  Sailor  Mine." 

"  I  won't  do  it !  "  thundered  John  Hawkins, 
slamming  down  the  cover  of  his  desk.  "  I  must 
have  control  when  I  invest.  Make  my  interest  fifty- 
one  per  cent,  and  I  will  talk  to  you.  Fifty-one  per 
cent,  or  nothing." 

"  Very  well,"  said  John  Burt,  rising ;  "  it  is  im- 
possible for  us  to  agree,  and  well  we  should  know 
it  in  advance.  In  case  I  am  unable  to  exercise  my 
option,  you  may  be  able  to  purchase  the  Blake 
interest  outright  for  two  hundred  and  fifty  thous- 
and. I  shall  be  glad,  if  that  time  comes,  to  put  you 
into  communication  with  him.  You  will  find  it  a 
good  investment.  You  could  not  purchase  my 
share  for  ten  times  the  amount.  Good-day,  Mr, 
Hawkins.  I  am  stopping  at  the  Palace  Hotel,  and 
letters  sent  there  will  be  forwarded  when  I  leave 
the  city.  Good-day,  sir." 

Two  days  later  John  Burt  received  a  message 
from  David  Parker,  asking  him  to  call  at  his  office. 

183 


JOHN  BURT 

Scientific  tests  had  shown  a  much  higher  percentage 
of  gold  than  those  indicated  by  the  crude  experi- 
ments made  in  the  cabin  by  John  Burt. 

"I  had  an  interview  with  Mr.  Hawkins  this 
morning,"  said  David  Parker,  after  greeting  his 
visitor.  "  Mr.  Hawkins  is  a  very  peculiar  man — 
very  peculiar — as  I  have  told  you.  But  he  is  honest 
— honest  as  a  dog.  He  is  from  Maine — and  he 
likes  to  dicker.  He  made  his  start  in  California  by 
trading  a  horse — and  a  mighty  poor  horse  it  was — 
for  a  mine — and  it  proved  one  of  the  best  mines — 
one  of  the  best  mines  in  the  State.  He  says  you 
are  the  hardest  man  to  deal  with  he  ever  saw — a 
great  compliment  for  you,  Mr.  Burton,  I  assure  you. 
He  has  had  his  lawyer  draw  up  a  provisional  agree- 
ment in  conformity  to  your  terms — as  he  understood 
them — and  instructs  me  to  say  to  you  that  we  are 
invited  to  dine  with  him  at  his  club  this  afternoon, 
when  the  matter  may  be  finally  arranged.  If  so,  I 
am  to  accompany  you  to  the  mines  to-morrow." 

Though  not  greatly  surprised,  John  was  pleased 
as  he  listened  to  the  slowly  delivered  decision 
announced  by  the  expert.  He  thanked  Parker,  and 
arranged  to  meet  him  with  Mr.  Hawkins  at  a  later 
hour.  He  then  called  on  an  attorney  and  submitted 
the  agreement  to  his  inspection.  After  making  a 
few  minor  alterations,  the  lawyer  assured  John  that 
the  agreement  fully  protected  his  interests. 

Over  a  dinner  such  as  is  possible  only  in  San 
Francisco  the  agreement  was  ratified.  At  the  table, 
184 


THE          CAPITALIST 

the  crusty  veneer  with  which  the  great  capitalist 
protected  himself  melted  away.  He  proposed  a 
toast  to  John's  health  and  to  the  success  of  the 
Sailor  Mine.  The  magnate  disappeared,  and  the 
big,  whole-souled  pioneer  sat  in  his  place.  He  told 
tales  of  early  California;  of  his  trials,  triumphs,  and 
reverses ;  laughing  at  his  early  disasters  with  a  voice 
which  rattled  the  glasses.  There  was  humor  and  at 
times  pathos  in  these  fragments  of  a  wonderful 
career,  but  through  them  all  ran  a  vein  of  rugged 
honesty. 


•ts 


CHAPTER        EIGHTEEN 

SUCCESS  AND  FAILURE 

DAVID  PARKER'S  report  on  the  Sailor  Mine 
was  submitted  to  Mr.  Hawkins  ten  days 
later,  and  it  more  than  confirmed  the  state- 
ments made  by  John  Burt.  Upon  receipt  of  it,  the 
magnate  proceeded  to  the  mine  with  Burt  and 
Parker,  taking  several  miners  in  whom  he  had  abso- 
lute confidence.  New  claims  were  located  on  the 
mountain-side,  and  in  the  valley  below  in  anticipation 
of  possible  placer  deposits. 

Jim  Blake,  meanwhile,  cheerfully  informed  every 
one  that  his  winter's  work  had  been  thrown  away. 
He  lounged  about  Auburn  for  a  week,  cursing  his 
luck  and  "lying  like  a  gentleman,"  as  he  subse- 
quently explained.  Then  he  left  for  San  Francisco, 
passing  John  on  the  way.  They  met  at  a  stage 
junction,  and  arranged  to  see  each  other  in  'Frisco 
on  John's  return.  Blake  was  delighted  when  in- 
formed of  John's  progress. 

"  Hope  you  make  millions,  and  am  betting  you 
will,"  said  Jim  as  they  shook  hands  and  separated. 

Mr.  Hawkins,  David  Parker,  and  John  Burt 
spent  three  nights  in  the  cramped  quarters  of  the 
log  cabin,  and  thoroughly  enjoyed  themselves.  In 
those  three  days  were  planned  the  improvements 
which  a  few  weeks  later  threw  the  surrounding  re- 
gion into  a  fever  of  excitement,  and  started  a  stam- 
pede for  the  new  Golconda. 

On   their   return   to   San    Francisco    a    formal 

186 


SUCCESS      AND      FAILURE 

agreement  was  signed,  and  John  Burt  and  John 
Hawkins  became  partners  in  the  Sailor  Mine  and  in 
the  scores  of  claims  surrounding  it. 

For  eighteen  months  John  directed  the  efforts 
of  an  army  of  men,  swarming  like  ants  on  the 
mountain-side.  A  village  sprang  up  in  the  valley 
and  clustered  about  the  stamp  mills  of  Hawkins 
&  Company.  Day  and  night  the  fractured  ore  fed 
the  thundering  maws  of  the  crushers.  Churches, 
gambling  houses,  stores  and  saloons  contended  for 
patronage.  Thousands  of  claims  were  staked  out; 
but  nature  had  ceased  from  her  gold  sowing  when 
she  finished  the -broad  layers  of  the  Sailor  Mine 
and  its  outcroppings.  Jim  Blake's  tunnel  proved 
to  have  missed  the  ore  at  three  points  by  a  few  feet ; 
another  week's  work  would  have  tapped  one  of  the 
more  productive  veins.  Blake  visited  the  mines 
and  smiled  grimly  when  he  saw  how  fortune  had 
sported  with  him. 

The  mines  produced  eight  hundred  thousand 
dollars  in  gold  the  first  year.  After  deducting 
Blake's  price,  John's  share  in  the  profits  was  more 
than  a  hundred  thousand.  His  dividends  in  the 
following  six  months  were  three  hundred  thousand, 
and  for  the  year  nearly  seven  hundred  thousand. 
Following  Mr.  Hawkins'  advice,  he  so  invested  his 
profits  as  to  become  a  millionaire  before  he  had 
been  in  California  two  years. 

Having  placed  the  mining  property  on  a  per- 
manent footing,  and  in  charge  of  competent  mana- 

187 


JOHN  BURT 

gers  and  superintendents,  he  transferred  his  head- 
quarters to  San  Francisco.  He  still  made  periodi- 
cal visits  to  the  mines,  where  he  had  an  office  in  the 
old  log  cabin;  orders  having  been  issued  not  to 
destroy  it  under  any  circumstances. 

When  Jim  Blake  received  his  first  instalment 
of  a  hundred  thousand  dollars,  he  gave  a  dinner  in 
John  Burt's  honor  in  the  Occidental  Hotel.  Twenty 
guests  were  present,  including  John  Hawkins  and 
David  Parker.  This  social  function  cost  Blake  a 
thousand  dollars,  and  he  was  more  than  satisfied 
when  the  newspapers  declared  that  it  was  the  most 
elaborate  gastronomical  affair  in  the  history  of  the 
California  metropolis. 

"You  would  be  a  long  time  in  Rocky  Woods 
before  you  had  a  dinner  like  that,"  said  Blake  the 
next  day,  as  he  looked  lovingly  at  a  newspaper 
headline  which  read  "  Fifty  Dollars  a  Plate  ! " 

Ten  days  after  this  famous  feast  Blake  was 
without  a  dollar. 

"  Mining  stocks,"  he  explained  to  John  Burt. 
11 1  plunged  on  Robert  Emmet,  and  they  trimmed 
me.  I  was  sixty  thousand  ahead  at  one  stage  of 
the  game,  and  I  pressed  it  for  a  slam.  Robert 
Emmet  hasn't  stopped  going  down  yet.  The  stock 
looks  more  like  a  liability  than  an  asset.  A  man 
caught  with  it  on  his  clothes  is  liable  to  be  arrested. 
If  I  had  struck  it  right,  Mrs.  Worthington  would 
now  be  Mrs.  James  Blake." 

John  advanced  Jim  ten  thousand  dollars,  and 

188 


SUCCESS      AND      FAILURE 

gave  him  advice  which  was  worth  more  than  the 
money.  Blake  followed  the  advice  for  a  month. 
When  his  second  instalment  was  due,  he  had  drawn 
so  heavily  against  John  that  he  had  a  balance  of 
only  forty-five  thousand.  Two  months  after  he 
had  received  a  check  for  the  final  payment,  which 
terminated  his  original  property  rights  in  the 
mines,  he  admitted  to  John  Burt  that  his  total 
assets  did  not  exceed  five  thousand  dollars. 

"As  a  Napoleon  of  speculation  and  finance," 
laughed  Blake,  deftly  rolling  a  cigarette,  "  I  run 
largely  to  Leipsics  and  Waterloos.  When  it  comes 
to  sustaining  defeats  and  reverses,  I  can  give  the 
immortal  Corsican  cards  and  spades,  I  did  fairly 
well  with  that  last  hundred  thousand ;  had  it  up  to 
nearly  four  hundred  thousand  on  a  tip  from  Haw- 
kins. That  was  only  a  hundred  thousand  from  a 
swell  wedding.  Then  I  cut  loose  from  amateur 
advice,  and  relied  on  my  own  keen  judgment.  Lost 
all  of  it  in  two  weeks." 

Blake  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  and  an 
expression  of  disappointment  showed  in  his  eyes. 
The  next  instant  it  was  gone. 

"  Tell  you  how  you  can  make  a  barrel  of 
money  on  me,  John,"  he  exclaimed.  "  I'll  inform 
you  what  stocks  to  buy — you  sell  'em.  I'll  advise 
you  to  sell  a  stock — you  buy  it.  Copper  all  my 
bets  and  get  rich.  An  infallible  hoodoo  is  as 
good  a  guide  as  a  sure  mascot.  By  systematically 
shunning  my  opinion,  any  man  can  make  money. 

189 


JOHN  BURT 

Between  the  Scylla  of  what  I  say  and  the  Charybdis 
of  what  I  do  is  the  safe  passage  which  leads  to 
fortune.  This  is  not  a  kick,  John,  but  merely  a 
few  disinterested  financial  observations;"  and  Blake 
lay  back  in  his  chair,  smiled  complacently,  and  blew 
rings  of  smoke  towards  the  ceiling. 

"  I've  a  better  plan  than  that,"  said  John  after 
a  moment's  silence,  "  and  one  which  will  give  full 
scope  for  your  talents.  You  have  not  made  a  suc- 
cess in  speculating  on  your  own  account,  but  that  is 
not  to  your  discredit.  It  indicates  that  your  ener- 
gies have  been  misdirected.  I've  been  thinking  for 
some  time,  Jim,  of  making  a  proposition  to  you. 
I  recently  purchased  seats  on  the  mining  and  stock 
exchanges,  and  wish  to  become  a  silent  partner  in 
an  investing  and  brokerage  firm.  Mr.  Hawkins 
will  have  no  financial  interest  in  the  proposed  house, 
but  he  has  promised  to  support  it  by  his  patronage 
and  influence.  I  will  furnish  most  of  the  capital; 
but  for  reasons  that  you  will  appreciate,  I  prefer  to 
remain  in  the  background." 

"  It  will  win,  John ;  you  always  win,"  declared 
Blake,  "but  what  can  I  do?  At  this  moment  I 
could'nt  finance  a  boot-black  stand." 

"  Let  me  finish,"  said  John.  "  How  would  you 
like  to  become  the  nominal  head  of  such  a  concern, 
under  the  title,  we  will  say,  of  '  James  Blake  & 
Company'?  In  order  that  you  may  have  a  sub- 
stantial interest  in  the  firm,  I  will  advance  you  a 
hundred  thousand  dollars  on  your  future  profits 


SUCCESS      AND      FAILURE 

from  the  Sailor  Mine,  and  invest  with  the  firm  four 
hundred  thousand  of  my  own  money.  I  intend  to 
conduct  some  rather  extensive  stock  operations, 
but  they  will  be  on  personal  account.  I  believe  you 
can  do  far  better  by  confining  your  attention  to  the 
executive  work  of  such  a  concern  and  letting  specu- 
lation alone.  What  do  you  think  of  my  proposi- 
tion ?" 

u  Are  you  in  earnest,  John?  " 

"  I  mean  just  what  I  said." 

"  Nothing  would  suit  me  better,  but  I'm  afraid 
I'm  not  qualified  for  such  a  position,"  said  Blake, 
delighted  beyond  measure.  Once  more  the  path  to 
wealth  opened  out  before  him. 

"I  know  your  qualifications,"  said  John. 
"You  will  become  the  most  popular  and  capable 
broker  in  San  Francisco.  Dine  with  me  to-night, 
and  we'll  arrange  the  details  and  drink  a  toast  with 
Hawkins  to  the  success  of  James  Blake  &  Com- 
pany." 

Announcement  of  the  establishment  of  the  new 
firm  was  made  the  following  week.  Mr.  Hawkins 
refused  to  confirm  or  deny  the  popular  rumor  that 
he  was  the  banker  of  the  concern ;  and  no  one  sus- 
pected that  John  Burton  had  any  financial  interest 
in  it.  That  quiet  gentleman  was  unknown  to  fame 
in  San  Francisco.  He  took  possession  of  a  private 
office  inaccessible  to  customers,  and  lived  in 
secluded  apartments. 

Blake  &  Company  first  attracted  speculative 

191 


JOHN  BURT 

attention  by  its  masterly  handling  of  the  corner  in 
the  stock  of  Don  Pedro  Smelting  and  Mining  Com- 
pany. In  that  campaign  the  affrighted  "  shorts '; 
trampled  each  other  under  foot  in  efforts  to  meet 
their  contracts.  The  profits  of  the  firm  were  esti- 
mated at  a  million  and  a  half.  John  Hawkins  was 
publicly  named  as  the  manipulator  and  principal 
winner,  but  James  Blake  was  hailed  as  the  daring 
operator  whose  brilliant  generalship  had  crowned 
the  success  of  the  deal.  In  the  speculative  firma- 
ment he  suddenly  blazed  forth  as  a  star  of  the  first 
magnitude. 

Those  who  had  laughed  at  Blake's  numerous 
failures  were  the  first  to  congratulate  him.  The 
fawning  followers  of  success  hastened  to  declare 
their  allegiance.  Customers  flocked  to  the  new 
firm  and  gazed  with  awe  at  the  majestic  figure  of 
Mr.  Hawkins,  who  occasionally  visited  the  offices 
and  held  mysterious  conferences  with  James  Blake, 
or  with  the  unknown  and  silent  Burton.  Those 
few  who  knew  John  Burton  by  sight  considered 
him  a  possible  customer,  or  more  likely  a  plodding 
lieutenant  in  the  employ  of  Blake. 

James  Blake  suddenly  developed  traits  which 
bewildered  his  friends  and  surprised  himself. 
Under  the  guidance  of  John  Burt  he  mastered  the 
details  of  the  business,  displaying  ability  in  dealing 
with  the  intricacies  which  formed  the  daily  routine. 
Incapable  of  acting  for  himself,  he  could  follow  a 
chartered  course  with  the  precision  of  a  pilot.  - 
192 


SUCCESS      AND      FAILURE 

Nature  had  denied  to  James  Blake  that  spark 
of  genius  which  inspires  the  leader,  but  he  pos- 
sessed in  a  high  degree  those  traits  which  leader- 
ship attracts  and  invests  with  power.  He  grasped 
Burt's  plans  of  campaign  with  the  intuition  of  a 
Bernadotte,  and  executed  them  with  the  dash  and 
skill  of  a  Murat.  He  made  several  speculative  ex- 
periments on  his  own  account,  some  of  them  at 
considerable  expense,  before  becoming  convinced 
that  "  he  could  not  bet  his  own  chips,"  as  he  ex- 
pressed it.  He  then  decided  to  become  rich  by 
following  the  advice  of  the  quiet  man  who  occupied 
an  inner  room  in  the  luxurious  offices. 

In  the  two  years  which  followed,  wealth  poured 
into  the  coffers  of  James  Blake  &  Company.  Blake 
became  a  bank  director  and  an  investor  in  mines, 
railroads,  and  other  properties.  Burt  did  not  hesi- 
tate to  place  his  millions  in  the  hands  of  his  friend. 
No  word  of  anger  or  shade  of  doubt  arose  between 
them  during  these  eventful  months. 

Blake's  name  figured  in  great  financial  transac- 
tions, and  his  opinion  was  eagerly  sought  in  matters 
of  commercial  moment.  Handsome  as  Apollo,  and 
the  reputed  possessor  of  a  large  fortune,  he  became 
a  society  lion,  a  popular  club  man,  and  the  target 
of  matrimonial  archers. 

But  Blake's  heart  was  true  to  the  charming 
Mrs.  Worthington. 

"A  man  who  respects  himself  cannot  marry  a 
wealthy  widow  on  less  than  a  million,"  he  said  to 

193 


JOHN  BURT 

John.  "If  I  follow  your  advice  I'll  be  a  Benedict 
in  a  year  or  so.  And  Pauline,  dear  girl,  is  worth 
waiting  for." 

Blake  accepted  his  honors  with  dignity  and 
modesty.  He  was  willing  and  proud  to  shine  in 
the  reflected  light  of  John  Burt.  He  would  have 
endured  unmerited  disgrace  as  serenely  as  he  wore 
unwon  honors. 

From  the  moment  when  Peter  Burt  stood  with 
uplifted  arms  in  the  lightning's  glare  and  gave  him 
a  blessing,  John  Burt  had  no  doubt  of  his  financial 
future.  With  his  eyes  fixed  unwaveringly  on  an 
immediate  purpose,  he  had  boldly  commanded  for- 
tune to  do  his  bidding.  Sternly  repressing  the 
desire  to  taste  the  fruits  of  early  triumphs,  he  had 
immured  himself  from  the  world  and  the  ones  he 
loved,  content  to  await  the  time  appointed  by  destiny 
for  the  crucial  contest,  and  at  last  that  hour  was  at 
hand. 

A  profile  portrait  of  Jessie  Garden  rested  on  an 
easel  which  stood  near  the  desk  in  his  library.  It 
was  the  work  of  an  artist  of  local  fame,  drawn  from 
a  tintype  photograph — his  sole  memento  of  the 
woman  he  loved.  The  pink  paper  frame,  with  a 
design  in  hearts  and  roses,  which  surrounded  the 
photograph,  was  frayed  and  torn,  but  Jessie's  sweet 
face  was  revealed  on  the  glossy  surface  of  the  metal 
— the  face  which  had  looked  into  his  one  summer 
day  when  they  rode  to  Hingham,  and  Jessie  pro- 
posed they  should  "  have  their  tintypes  taken." 
194 


SUCCESS      AND      FAILURE 

A  wandering  photographer  had  pitched  his 
tent  near  the  old  churchyard.  Large  frames,  con- 
taining innumerable  samples  of  his  skill,  stood  in 
front  of  the  tent — photographs  of  country  swains 
hand  in  hand  with  laughing,  blushing  girls;  blissful 
couples,  with  the  groom  resting  his  hand  on  the 
bride's  shoulder,  as  if  fearful  she  would  escape, 
rustic  sports  with  tilted  hats  and  cigars  in  their 
mouths ;  members  of  secret  societies  with  dangling 
swords  and  impressive  regalia;  sombre  old  maids, 
with  Niagara  Falls  showing  in  the  background — 
these  and  others  like  them  testified  to  the  versatility 
of  his  art. 

Jessie  was  in  her  sixteenth  year  when  the  pic- 
ture was  taken,  but  the  long  riding-habit  and  the 
queenly  pose  of  her  head  against  the  plain  back- 
ground added  dignity  to  the  nascent  charms  of  face 
and  figure.  The  San  Francisco  artist  had  taken 
this  crude  print  as  his  subject,  and  by  rare  chance 
had  caught  the  spirit  and  transferred  it  to  canvas. 

John  would  sit  for  hours  during  the  long  even- 
ings and  gaze  at  this  portrait.  It  was  the  one  visi- 
ble connecting  link  between  the  past  and  the  present, 
the  ocular  inspiration  for  his  future.  He  regretted 
a  thousand  times  that  the  face  was  not  turned 
towards  him,  that  he  might  look  again  into  those 
eyes  and  force  the  canvas  to  convey  his  thoughts. 

Again  and  again  he  attempted  to  picture  the 
Jessie  Garden  of  the  present.  With  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  portrait,  and  his  mind  centered  on  its  origi- 
ns 


JOHN  BURT 

nal,  he  struggled  to  span  the  void  of  miles  and  years 
which  parted  them,  and  to  hold  communion  with 
her.  At  times  he  imagined  the  message  was  received, 
and  that  a  loving  answer  came,  bidding  him  to  have 
faith  and  to  persevere.  Surely  such  correspondence 
was  not  in  violation  of  his  promise  to  Peter  Burt ! 
Then  he  would  turn  to  his  books,  and  with  a  light 
heart  toil  far  into  the  night.  In  this  room  he  mas- 
tered the  secrets  of  finance  and  of  commerce.  With 
himself  as  tutor,  he  took  a  postgraduate  course 
in  business.  No  detail  was  too  slight,  no  problem 
too  intricate,  to  escape  his  attention.  The  world 
was  the  chessboard  of  his  future  operations,  and  he 
explored  its  past  and  studied  its  present  with  zeal 
unflagging  and  faith  unbounded. 

But  when  slumber  fell  upon  him,  and  his  soul 
wandered  into  unknown  regions,  he  dreamed — 
dreamed  not  of  millions  nor  of  triumphs  over  master 
minds.  He  dreamed  of  Jessie  Garden. 


196 


CHAPTER        NINETEEN 

A        BRILLIANT        CAMPAIGN 

JAMES    BLAKE   yet   longed    for    speculative 
laurels.    His  one  ambition  was  to  achieve  some 
sweeping  coup,   and  taste  the  inward  joy  of 
triumph — sweeter    far   than   the    undeserved    fame 
which  had  been  thrust  upon  him.    He  esteemed  the 
financial  spoils  of  such  a  victory  as  nothing  compared 
to  the  pride  he  would  feel  in  justifying  John  Hurt's 
confidence  in  his  abilities. 

Blake  lived  in  an  atmosphere  of  chance.  Day 
after  day  he  witnessed  the  success  of  men  who  had 
sought  and  followed  his  advice,  and  it  was  madden- 
ing to  reflect  that  fortune  seemed  to  avert  her  face 
whenever  he  himself  petitioned  at  her  shrine.  But 
no  rebuff  can  entirely  shatter  that  yearning  faith 
which  nerves  the  hand  of  the  votary  of  chance,  and 
Blake  still  believed  that  the  time  would  come  when 
the  fickle  goddess  would  smile  on  him.  He  was  not 
so  vain  as  to  compare  himself  with  John  Burt,  nor 
so  unkind  as  to  attribute  the  latter's  success  to  luck; 
but  he  did  believe  that  the  fates  had  strangely 
requited  his  abilities! 

"  For  an  unlucky  man  I  am  probably  the  lucki- 
est person  in  the  world,"  he  said  to  himself  as  he 
pondered  his  odd  situation.  "I  am  fate's  freak  1" 
When  he  had  amassed  half  a  million  of  dollars 
the  temptation  to  risk  it  was  too  strong  to  be 
resisted.  John  Burt  had  just  terminated  a  campaign 
which  had  netted  him  nearly  a  million  in  profit,  and 

197 


JOHN  BURT 

John  Hawkins  had  been  equally  successful.  Blake 
saw  a  chance  and  took  it.  With  nerve  and  skill  he 
forced  a  stock  to  a  point  where  victory  seemed  cer- 
tain; but  an  unforeseen  event  ruined  his  chances  at 
the  moment  when  the  spell  of  ill-luck  seemed  broken. 
The  market  turned,  but  by  a  series  of  moves,  bril- 
liant as  if  inspired  by  success  instead  of  disaster, 
Blake  saved  himself  from  a  complete  rout,  and 
emerged  with  one-half  of  his  capital. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  Blake  was  discour- 
aged. He  was  too  much  cast  down  to  inform  John 
Burt  of  this  disaster.  He  felt  that  his  defeat  was 
undeserved,  and  for  a  while  he  remained  moody  and 
despondent;  but  he  finally  recovered  his  spirits,  and 
grimly  decided  to  make  another  effort  at  the  first 
opportunity. 

A  few  days  later  he  held  an  interview  with  John 
Burt — an  interview  destined  to  mark  an  epoch  in  his 
career. 

"  Can  you  arrange  your  affairs  so  as  to  go  to 
New  York  for  me,  starting  on  Saturday?"  asked 
John  Burt. 

"I  can  start  to-night  if  necessary,"  replied 
Blake. 

"Saturday  night  will  be  better,"  said  Burt. 
"Two  important  railroad  stocks  will  decline  heavily 
next  week.  They  are  now  buoyant,  and  the  public 
is  eager  to  buy  them.  I  shall  have  disposed  of  my 
interest  in  them  before  you  reach  New  York.  Two 
million  dollars  will  be  placed  there  to  your  credit. 
198 


A     BRILLIANT     CAMPAIGN 

Proceed  at  once,  on  your  arrival,  to  sell  short  one 
hundred  thousand  shares  of  each  of  these  stocks. 
You  should  be  able  to  do  this  in  three  days  without 
seriously  breaking  the  market.  Wire  me  the  moment 
you  have  sold  these  amounts.  You  hold  in  your 
name  between  five  and  six  million  dollars'  worth  of 
stocks  and  bonds,  which  are  listed  on  the  New  York 
Exchange.  Express  them  to  New  York  at  once.  I 
propose  to  convert  them  into  cash.  When  I  wire 
you,  throw  them  on  the  market  and  sell  more  of  the 
railroad  stocks.  I  have  designed  a  special  cipher 
code  with  which  you  must  become  familiar.  This  is 
our  introduction  to  the  Eastern  market.  We'll  dis- 
cuss the  details  before  you  leave,  and  I  have  absolute 
faith  in  your  ability  to  conduct  the  campaign." 

For  a  moment  the  magnitude  of  the  proposed 
operation,  and  its  weight  of  responsibility,  almost 
crushed  James  Blake.  He  was  worth  but  a  paltry 
amount,  with  a  long  record  of  speculative  failures, 
yet  John  Burt  proposed  to  intrust  him  with  millions, 
without  the  scratch  of  a  pen  for  security.  More 
than  that,  he  was  deemed  worthy  to  conduct  one  of 
the  most  colossal  operations  in  the  history  of  specu- 
lation. 

It  was  a  proud  moment  for  Blake.  There  was 
no  shadow  of  envy  or  jealousy  in  his  thoughts  as  he 
looked  into  the  face  of  the  companion  of  his  boy- 
hood, and  heard  him  speak  calmly  of  millions  and 
of  launching  them  against  the  giants  of  Wall  Street. 

"  I  can  do  it !  I  will  do  it ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  I 

199 


JOHN  B        U        R        T 

see  your  plan,  and  it's  magnificent,  John,  magnifi- 
cent !  It  will  win — win  beyond  a  doubt.  But  you 
took  my  breath  away  at  first,  John." 

"Your  special  commission  will  be  the  profits  on 
fifty  thousand  shares,"  continued  John  Burt.  "  Un- 
less I  am  much  mistaken  this  will  more  than  recoup 
your  recent  loss.  You  deserved  to  win  in  that  ven- 
ture, Jim,  and  I  congratulate  you  on  the  splendid 
way  in  which  you  retreated.  A  masterly  retreat  is 
more  creditable  than  a  haphazard  victory.  How 
did  I  learn  of  it?  I'll  tell  you  some  time.  There 
are  other  matters  in  which  I  am  much  interested, 
and  of  which  I  have  not  spoken  in  years. 

John  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  a  far-off  look 
came  to  his  eyes. 

"I  have  two  important  personal  commissions 
for  you,  Jim,"  he  said,  looking  into  the  face  of  his 
friend. 

"While  in  New  York  ascertain  for  me  if  Arthur 
Morris  is  alive.  Find  out  what  he  is  doing,  and 
learn  what  you  can  about  him.  The  second  task  is 
a  more  delicate  one.  It  concerns  Miss  Garden.  I 
wish  to  know " 

"I  know  exactly  what  you  want,"  interrupted 
Jim  Blake  as  John  hesitated.  "  You  want  to  know 
all  about  her;  and  you  shall  have  a  full  report  when 
I  return.  You  want  to  know  where  she  is,  how  she 
is,  if  she  yet  loves  you,  and " 

"You  need  not  attempt  the  latter  task,"  said 
John  rather  shortly.  "You  are  likely  to  under- 


200 


A     BRILLIANT     CAMPAIGN 

take  too  much.  For  the  present  I  do  not  care  to 
acquaint  Miss  Garden,  or  any  one  in  the  East,  with 
my  whereabouts,  or  even  with  the  fact  of  my  exist- 
ence. Be  careful  in  this  matter,  Jim.  Of  course 
you  will  go  to  Hingham  and  visit  your  kinsfolk. 
You  can  easily  learn  all  I  care  to  know  from  the 
Bishops,  or  perhaps  from  Sam  Rounds.  If  not,  go 
to  Boston;  but  get  the  facts  without  calling  on 
Miss  Garden.  You  understand,  don't  you,  Jim?" 

"  Certainly  I  do,  old  fellow,"  said  Jim  heartily. 
"  I'll  be  as  cautious  as  a  dime-novel  sleuth.  I  won't 
spoil  your  little  surprise  party.  But  honestly,  John, 
I'd  much  rather  have  the  privilege  of  meeting  Miss 
Garden  and  telling  her  that  I  knew  a  man  named 
John  Burt ;  that  he's  very  much  alive,  healthy,  and 
handsome;  that  he's  worth  more  millions  than  her 
father  ever  saw,  and  that  she's  the  luckiest  little 
maiden  in  all  New  England  to  have  the  love  of 
such  a  man." 

"  She  might  not  agree  with  you,  Jim,"  laughed 
John  Burt.  "  I  certainly  haven't  said  anything 
which  would  lead  you  to  suppose  that — that " 

"Of  course  you  haven't,  but  I  know  you  love 
her,  and  I'll  bet  she  loves  you.  I  can  read  a  lover 
as  you  read  a  stock  ticker.  I  take  off  my  hat  to 
you,  John,  on  all  other  subjects,  but  we  are  peers 
when  it  comes  to  affairs  of  the  heart.  But  you 
needn't  worry  about  my  discretion.  I  hope  to  bring 
back  news  that  will  make  you  the  happiest  man  in 
California." 


201 


JOHN  B       U       R       T 

After  repeated  conferences  every  detail  of  the 
Wall  Street  campaign  was  agreed  upon,  and  James 
Blake  set  his  face  towards  the  East. 

"John  Hurt's  a  strange  lover,"  mused  Blake  as 
he  lounged  back  in  a  chair  in  John  Hawkins'  private 
car,  soothed  by  the  rhythm  of  the  rolling  wheels. 
"  It's  more  than  four  years  since  he  has  spoken  her 
name  to  me.  Come  to  think  of  it,  he  never  said 
that  she  loved  him  or  that  he  loved  her.  Well,  John 
loves  her.  A  man  don't  shoot  up  young  millionaires 
on  account  of  passing  friendships.  John  won't 
even  admit  that  the  portrait  in  his  room  is  Miss 
Garden,  but  I  know  it  is.  Of  course  it  is !  I  hope 
she's  good  enough  for  John.  He's  a  royal  fellow; 
a  royal  good  fellow  is  John.  Eight  million  dollars 
— and  I'll  bet  he  has  two  millions  more !  His  mines 
are  paying  him  a  million  and  a  half  a  year.  If  he 
has  made  a  mistake  in  stocks  in  two  years  I've  not 
heard  of  it.  The  ticker  tells  him  all  its  secrets. 
And  what  has  he  gotten  out  of  it?  I  have  most  of 
his  money  and  all  of  his  fame.  Talk  about  your 
plots  and  romances  and  fiction;  they're  like  coun- 
terfeit money  compared  with  this  I  I  suppose  I'm 
the  champion  counterfeit  of  the  universe.  Suppose 
I  should  drop  dead  ?  Well  I  won't  drop  dead.  If 
such  a  minor  catastrophe  had  been  decreed,  John 
would  know  of  it  in  advance.  He  knows  everything  ! 
But  this  Miss  Garden  problem  may  down  him.  They 
say  every  man  has  some  weak  point — some  Achilles' 
heel.  Perhaps  John's  weak  point  is  woman.  Here's 


A     BRILLIANT     CAMPAIGN 

where  I  may  help  him  out.  God  knows  he's  done 
enough  for  me ;  perhaps  this  is  where  I  pay  part  of 
the  debt.  Miss  Jessie  will  marry  John  if  I  have  to 
commit  murder — that  is,  if  John  wants  to  marry 
her,  and  it's  a  sure  thing  he  does.  I  wonder  if  she's 
as  pretty  as  that  picture!  Ah,  well;  love  is  a  tough 
proposition.  Eight  million  dollars  in  the  keeping 
of  a  pauper!  The  thought  of  it  drives  me  to 
drink!" 

Blake  rang  the  bell  and  instructed  the  steward 
to  bring  him  a  pint  of  Mr.  Hawkins'  favorite 
wine.  He  smoked  a  cigar,  sipped  the  wine  slowly, 
dropped  into  a  doze,  and  dreamed  of  a  furious 
conflict  with  Wall  Street  bulls  and  bears,  who  were 
struggling  for  possession  of  Jessie  Garden.  Aided 
by  Peter  Burt  he  charged  into  their  ranks  and  res- 
cued the  fair  maiden,  who  smiled  and  greeted  him, 
and  handed  him  a  check  for  eighty  millions  of 
dollars. 

"That's  an  easy  way  to  make  money,"  reflected 
Blake  as  he  awoke  and  rubbed  his  eyes.  "If  that 
brand  of  wine  holds  out  until  I  reach  New  York, 
1  can  pay  off  the  national  debt." 

He  arrived  in  New  York  on  Friday  evening. 
Eurly  the  following  morning  he  appeared  in  Wall 
Street  and  presented  letters  of  introduction  to  the 
banks  and  brokers  who  had  been  selected  by  John 
Burt  as  agents  in  the  pending  operations. 

Blake  found  that  his  fame  had  preceded  him. 
Invitations  to  dinner  and  proffers  of  club  privi- 


JOHN  BURT 

leges  were  showered  upon  him,  but  he  pleaded 
fatigue  and  sought  the  seclusion  of  his  hotel. 

On  Monday  morning  he  opened  accounts  with 
brokers  and  began  selling  small  blocks  of  the  two 
railway  stocks.  The  market  was  strong,  and  all 
offerings  were  eagerly  absorbed. 

Never  for  a  moment  did  Blake  lose  his  head  or 
betray  his  hand.  In  three  days  he  had  sold  one 
hundred  thousand  shares  of  each  stock,  and  the 
market  was  stationary.  He  wired  the  fact  to  John 
Burt  and  received  instructions.  The  following  day 
he  began  the  cash  sale  of  the  stocks  and  securities. 
When  half  of  them  were  sold  the  market  began  to 
weaken. 

On  Thursday  morning  he  received  a  cipher 
telegram  which,  when  translated,  read  as  follows : 

"  Sell  remainder  of  securities  at  market  price,  and  then  offer 
railroads  A  and  B  in  five  thousand  lots. ' ' 

J.  B. 

Beneath  the  weight  of  these  offerings  the  mar- 
ket trembled  and  then  broke  sharply.  Late  in  the 
afternoon  came  the  news  of  the  resignation  of  power- 
ful directors  on  railroads  A  and  B  ;  the  organization 
of  a  competing  line,  and  the  passage  of  a  resolution 
for  enormous  bond  issues.  On  Friday  there  came 
the  news  of  a  general  railroad  strike,  and  the  stam- 
pede became  a  rout. 

When  James  Blake  went  to  bed  late  Saturday 
night  it  was  after  fifty  hours  of  work  without  sleep. 
He  had  practically  concluded  one  of  the  most  deci- 
204 


A     BRILLIANT     CAMPAIGN 

sive  campaigns  ever  waged  on  the  Street.  Before 
turning  out  the  lights  he  again  read  a  telegram 
received  a  few  hours  before,  and  his  handsome  face 
flushed  with  pleasure  as  he  read : 

"Accept  my  congratulations  on  your  superb  handling  of  our 
campaign.  Mr.  Hawkins  joins  in  salutations  and  we  drink  your 
health." 

J.  B. 

"'Our'  campaign?"  said  Blake,  half  aloud. 
"That's  the  highest  of  compliments.  I  would  like 
to  plan  and  win  the  fruits  of  one  campaign  such  as 
this.  John  must  have  won  fortunes,  and  I'm  a  mil- 
lionaire at  last.  Wonder  if  I  can  sleep.  Here 
goes." 

He  dropped  into  a  slumber  deep  and  untrou- 
bled as  that  of  a  child. 


CHAPTER        TWENTY 

IN       STRICT       CONFIDENCE 

LIKE  disturbed  and  enraged  hornets,  Wall 
Street  buzzed  the  name  of  Blake  for  a  while, 
and  again  swarmed  angrily  about  its  stand- 
ards. Nothing  makes  a  lasting  impression  on  the 
collective  Wall  Street  intellect.  Should  the  Street 
survive  a  cataclysm,  the  event  would  be  ancient  his- 
tory in  a  week,  and  of  less  moment  than  the  mor- 
row's bank  statement. 

To  arouse  Wall  Street  one  must  send  a  shock 
through  the  nerves  of  the  financial  world ;  he  must 
retard  or  accelerate  the  speed  of  the  Titanic  balance- 
wheel  of  commerce.  Great  events  produce  this 
phenomenon — individuals  seldom  do.  Few  men  suc- 
ceed in  riveting  on  themselves  the  concentrated  gaze 
of  Argus-eyed  Speculation. 

James  Blake  found  himself  the  Wall  Street 
hero  of  the  hour.  He  was  acclaimed  the  young 
financial  giant  from  the  Pacific  Slope — a  market 
Ivanhoe  who  had  driven  his  lance  through  the  armor 
of  famed  knights  and  warriors. 

He  drank  deep  of  the  glorious  nectar  of  vic- 
tory. The  day  had  dawned  when  he  could  accept 
honors  fairly  won.  While  admitting  that  John  Burt 
was  the  master-mind  of  the  campaign,  Blake  knew 
that  he  had  played  no  small  part  in  its  consumma- 
tion. He  had  invested  every  dollar  of  his  own.  He 
had  carried  his  stock  to  the  bottom  of  the  market 
and  covered  in  time  to  profit  on  the  reaction.  In 
206 


IN      STRICT      CONFIDENCE 

a  week  of  furious  conflict  he  had  not  made  a  mis- 
take. 

It  requires  superb  will-power  to  withstand  the 
intoxicating  fumes  of  success.  The  average  man 
easily  resists  the  poison  of  adversity.  Defeat  is 
deadened  with  the  languor  of  laudanum.  Success 
staggers  with  the  stimulation  of  strychnine. 

New  York  threw  open  her  gates  as  to  a  victori- 
ous general,  proud  to  be  looted  in  honor  of  his 
fame.  She  became  the  opulent  and  willing  mistress 
to  his  pleasures.  She  fanned  his  fevered  brow  and 
whispered  soft  words  of  praise  into  his  ears. 

He  banqueted  with  money  kings  in  staid  old 
clubs ;  he  met  as  an  equal  the  dashing  young  scions 
of  wealth  around  the  boards  in  fashionable  cafes; 
he  drifted  through  drawing-rooms  brilliant  in  light, 
and  looked  into  the  admiring  faces  of  radiant 
women ;  he  mingled  with  the  jeweled  throng  in  play- 
house and  opera ;  he  read  his  name  and  the  story  of 
his  fame  in  the  public  prints — and  he  forgot  John 
Burt. 

He  spent  an  evening  in  a  Fifth  Avenue  Club — 
the  guest  of  a  young  banker  and  broker  who  had 
profited  from  the  coup.  Blake  was  faultlessly 
dressed,  and  his  fine  face  was  more  handsome  than 
ever.  Three  years  spent  in  the  cosmopolitan  atmos- 
phere of  San  Francisco  had  smoothed  the  rough 
edges  without  making  him  dully  conventional.  He 
goodnaturedly  declined  to  discuss  his  triumphs  in 
California,  but  told  with  spirit,  frankness  and  humor 

207 


JOHN  BURT 

the  tales  of  successive  reverses,  and  modestly  attrib- 
uted his  recent  run  of  success  to  luck. 

14  You  must  transfer  your  activities  to  New 
York,"  advised  young  Kingsley,  who  had  been 
willed  several  millions  and  a  banking  business. 
44  San  Francisco  is  too  small  and  provincial  for  you. 
A  man  who  can  handle  a  deal  as  you  did  belongs 
near  Wall  Street.  Ah,  here  comes  a  fellow  you 
must  meet! " 

A  thick-set  young  man  had  entered  the  room. 
He  stood  and  listened  with  a  bored  expression  to  a 
friend  who  was  enthusiastic  over  some  matter,  and 
persisted  in  repeatedly  shaking  hands. 

44  That's  Morris — Arthur  Morris,"  explained 
Kingsley.  u  Son  of  old  Randolph  Morris — don't 
you  know.  Pere  Morris  retired  from  business 
two  weeks  ago  and  turned  everything  over  to 
Arthur.  He  was  a  wild  one,  but  he's  settled 
down.  The  Morris  millions  won't  shrink  in  his 
hands.  I  want  you  to  know  him,  Blake.  When 
that  idiot  Smalley  breaks  away  I'll  call  Morris  over 
here.  He'll  be  glad  to  meet  you.  You  helped 
him  make  a  winning  last  week.  He  happened  to 
be  on  the  right  side  of  the  market,  and  when  you 
exploded  that  bomb  he  had  sense  enough  to  profit 
by  it.  Here  he  comes." 

When  Morris's  name  was  mentioned  Blake 
started  and  gazed  intently  at  the  stolid  face  and 
heavy  figure  in  the  far  corner  of  the  smoking-room. 
With  shame  he  recalled  that  he  had  made  no  inquiry 
208 


IN      STRICT      CONFIDENCE 

concerning  this  man,  whose  death  or  existence 
meant  so  much  to  John  Burt. 

For  a  moment  his  nerves  tingled,  and  he  longed 
to  walk  across  the  room  and  choke  Morris  for 
John's  sake,  but  he  reflected  that  this  was  folly.  It 
was  enough  to  know  that  Morris  lived.  John  Burt 
was  dead — so  far  as  Arthur  Morris  was  concerned 
— and  Blake,  as  John's  reincarnation,  threw  himself 
on  guard,  determined  to  profit  to  the  utmost  by 
the  incident.  The  easy  air  of  polite  interest  which 
he  assumed  when  the  young  millionaire  approached 
was  worthy  of  a  Garrick  or  a  Booth. 

"Glad  to  see  you,  old  man!"  exclaimed  Kings- 
ley,  rising  to  greet  Morris.  "  I  want  you  to  know 
my  friend,  Mr.  Blake — Mr.  James  Blake,  of  San 
Francisco — Mr.  Arthur  Morris.  You  certainly  have 
heard " 

"  'Pon  my  word  this  is  unexpected  luck ! " 
Arthur  Morris  thrust  forward  a  soft  hand  and 
winced  as  Blake  clasped  it  with  simulated  hearti- 
ness. 

"  Delighted  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Blake !  "  Morris 
exclaimed.  "Been  looking  for  you  everywhere! 
Sent  my  card  to  your  apartments  this  evening.  By 
Jove,  you're  a  corker,  don't  you  know,  Mr.  Blake! 
Waiter,  a  bottle  of  Perier  Gouet,  '54.  I  want  to 
drink  your  health,  Mr.  Blake.  Had  a  small  share 
in  your  victory — trailed  along  behind  your  triumphal 
car.  A  mere  trifle  of  a  few  thousands,  don't  you 
know,  but  a  fellow  never  goes  broke  taking  profits; 


JOHN  BURT 

eh,  Mr.  Blake?     Deuced   lucky  I  happened   to  be 
on  the  right  side.     Sheer  chance,  I  assure  you!" 

"Glad  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Morris!  "  said  James 
Blake,  looking  him  full  in  the  eyes.  "I've  heard  of 
your  father,  and  the  famous  old  firm,  and  learned 
only  to-day  that  you've  succeeded  him  in  business." 

John  Burt  had  told  him  little  concerning  the 
man  who  sat  by  his  side.  From  the  first  night  spent 
in  the  old  log  cabin  on  the  mountain-side  until  the  in- 
terview which  preceded  Blake's  departure  for  New 
York,  John  Burt  refused  to  discuss  the  events  which 
had  made  him  a  refugee.  After  one  or  two  attempts 
to  revert  to  these  incidents,  Blake  wisely  refrained 
from  pressing  the  subject.  By  no  word  or  sign 
did  John  display  interest  in  Morris. 

At  times  Blake  was  inclined  to  believe  that  the 
stern  and  successful  pursuit  of  wealth  had  dulled 
John's  hatred  of  Morris.  The  parting  interview 
did  little  to  solve  the  riddle. 

Two  years  spent  by  Arthur  Morris  in  an 
apprenticeship  to  the  trade  of  money  grasping  and 
holding  had  seamed  the  puffed,  round  face  with 
hard  lines.  The  once  dull  eyes  glowed  with  the 
'newly-lighted  fires  of  avarice.  The  sensuous  lips 
dropped  at  the  corners  with  a  cruel  curve.  The 
former  air  of  indifference  was  replaced  by  the  alert- 
ness of  defence  and  aggressiveness.  The  handling 
of  money  had  quickened  those  mental  and  physical 
forces  which  respond  to  the  clink  of  gold. 

Close   observers   predicted    a   great   career    for 

tio 


IN      STRICT      CONFIDENCE 

Arthur  Morris.  His  father  was  delighted  with  the 
transformation  and  did  not  hesitate  to  give  to  his 
heir  the  keys  which  unlocked  the  Morris  treasure 
vaults. 

The  hours  glided  by  to  the  music  of  clinking 
glasses  and  the  rising  clatter  of  conversation.  The 
twenty  or  more  men  who  had  clustered  around  the 
mahogany  table  segregated  into  smaller  groups. 
Some  discussed  Wall  Street,  others  declaimed  on 
the  issues  of  the  pending  election.  Some  waxed 
eloquent  over  art,  music  or  amusements.  Others 
recounted  society  triumphs  or  their  successes  in 
affairs  of  the  heart.  Yet  others,  under  the  egoistic 
spell  of  the  grape,  delivered  monodies  on  that  most 
engrossing  of  all  topics — themselves. 

And  as  James  Blake  talked  and  listened  and 
drank,  his  aversion  to  Arthur  Morris  relaxed. 
Bacchus  fires  the  passions  of  certain  of  his  devotees 
and  subdues  them  in  others.  Surely  these  were  royal 
good  fellows  !  Success  and  power  were  stamped  on 
their  faces.  He  loved  John  Burt  and  was  eager  to 
espouse  his  cause,  but  John  had  not  commissioned 
him  to  quarrel  with  Arthur  Morris.  Perhaps  the 
affair  of  the  years  before  was  only  a  boyhood  dis- 
pute? 

He  glanced  at  the  white  expanse  of  Morris's 
shirt  front  and  wondered  if  the  scar  of  John's  bullet 
showed  over  his  heart.  Morris  lived,  and  the 
thought  came  to  Blake  that  the  score  was  even 
between  John  and  the  young  millionaire.  The  feud 

211 


JOHN  BURT 

had  made  John  rich — why  should  John  complain? 
And  Arthur  Morris  did  not  seem  to  be  such  a  bad 
sort  of  a  fellow  after  all. 

Thus  reasoned  Blake  as  Morris  took  his  arm 
and  led  him  away  from  the  noisy  club  men.  The 
old-fashioned  clock  slowly  chimed  the  hour  of  mid- 
night. 

"Say  we  get  out  of  this?  "  said  Morris,  proffer- 
ing a  cigarette  case.  "  Smalley  is  making  a  nuisance 
of  himself  as  usual.  Your  friend  Kingsley  is  nearly 
asleep.  You'll  be  my  guest  to-night,  Blake.  Won't 
listen  to  a  refusal,  my  dear  fellow !  I've  bachelor 
apartments,  and  anything  you  ask  is  yours.  I  want 
to  have  a  quiet  chat  with  you.  Let's  make  our 
excuses  and  stroll  to  Delmonico's  for  a  bite  of  sup- 
per. Then  we'll  go  to  my  rooms." 

Blake  accepted  the  invitation,  and  after  supper 
they  drove  to  the  Morris  apartment.  Nothing  had 
been  omitted  in  the  furnishing  of  these  rooms. 
Rare  old  paintings  and  statuary  vied  with  other 
adornments  at  the  command  of  unrestricted  fancy. 

"  I'm  rather  fond  of  these  quarters,  don't  you 
know,"  said  Morris,  as  he  showed  his  guest  through 
a  suite  worthy  of  a  Lucullus.  "  Picked  up  some  of 
this  stuff  abroad,  and  the  governor  contributed 
the  rest  of  it.  Rammohun,  serve  us  that  1809 
brandy!" 

The  Indian  servant  bowed  and  moved  noise- 
lessly away.  Morris  opened  a  writing-desk  and 
glanced  at  a  number  of  unopened  letters. 

Ml 


IN      STRICT      CONFIDENCE 

"  Excuse  me  for  a  moment,  will  you, old  man?" 
he  said.  "This  reminds  me  that  I  must  write  a 
short  letter  and  have  it  posted  to-night.  It  will  take 
only  a  minute  or  two.  This  is  my  private  den. 
Look  it  over  or  make  yourself  comfortable.  In 
the  meantime  try  this  brandy.  I  can  recommend  it." 

While  Morris  was  writing,  his  guest  strolled 
around  the  sumptuous  "den."  Three  sides  of  it 
were  lined  with  carved  ebony  cases  enclosing  rows 
of  richly  bound  books  and  priceless  prints.  No 
student  would  have  been  deceived  by  this  array. 
There  was  an  ornate,  orderly  air  which  told  not  of 
learning.  Imprisoned  within  the  uncut  leaves  was 
the  romance,  wit,  poetry,  philosophy,  and  research 
of  a  hundred  generations,  swathed  like  mummies  in 
gilded  cartonnage.  On  the  walls  were  specimens  of 
Hogarth's  cartoons,  side  by  side  with  recent  pro- 
ductions, whose  sensualism  lacked  the  questionable 
sanction  which  age  gives  to  indecency. 

In  an  alcove,  partially  formed  by  a  bay  window, 
stood  an  easel,  upholding  a  large  frame.  The 
light  struck  the  canvas  in  such  a  way  that  Blake 
did  not  recognize  the  subject  until  squarely  in  front 
of  it.  He  saw  a  portrait  of  a  young  woman, 
garbed  in  a  dark  riding  habit,  a  spray  of  golden  rod 
fastened  to  her  dress,  and  a  whip  carelessly  held  in 
the  little  hand.  Folds  of  dark  hair  fell  from  the 
jaunty  cap,  and  crowned  the  queenly  pose  of  the 
head. 

It  was  a  portrait  of  Jessie  Garden — not  the 

213 


JOHN  B       U       R       T 

Jessie  Garden  drawn  by  the  San  Francisco  artist 
from  the  faded  tintype — but  the  Jessie  Garden  of 
later  years,  whose  face  and  figure  had  taken  on  the 
perfect  grace  of  womanhood.  Yet  the  pose  was 
exactly  the  same  as  that  of  the  portrait  Blake  had 
admired  so  many  times  in  John  Hurt's  study  room. 

Amazed  and  lost  in  thought,  Blake  did  not 
hear  Arthur  Morris  as  he  approached  and  stood 
back  of  him.  He  flushed  when  Morris  touched 
him  on  the  shoulder. 

"  By  Jove,  that  portrait  must  have  great  attrac- 
tion for  you  !  "  laughed  Morris.  "  You've  been 
staring  at  it  five  minutes." 

An  inspiration  came  to  James  Blake.  Always 
impulsive,  he  did  not  hesitate  to  act  on  the  spur 
of  the  moment. 

"Why,  I  know  her!  "  he  exclaimed.  "I'm  sure 
I  know  her — that  is,  I  used  to  know  her,  years 
ago!" 

"  You  know  her?  You're  dreaming,  old  chap! 
You  never  saw  her  in  your  life  !  A  box  at  the  opera 
you  cannot  tell  her  name! " 

"Done!"  said  Blake.  "That's  a  portrait  of 
Miss  Garden — Miss  Jessie  Garden,  of  Boston." 

An  expression  of  dumb  surprise  swept  across 
the  face  of  Arthur  Morris.  With  half-opened 
mouth  and  staring  eyes  he  gazed  at  James  Blake. 
The  sealed  letter  in  his  hand  fell  to  the  floor. 

"Well,  I'll  be-.  Well,  of  all  things  I"  He 
sank  into  a  chair  and  laughed  feebly.  "I  say,  old 


IN      STRICT      CONFIDENCE 

fellow,  you  took  me  off  my  feet!  How  the  devil 
did  you  guess  that  name?  What  are  you — a  wizard? 
By  Jove,  that's  the  most  extraordinary  thing  I  ever 
heard  of!" 

"Nothing  wonderful  about  it!"  said  Blake, 
who  by  this  time  had  perfected  his  course.  "  I  met 
Miss  Garden  years  ago,  I  tell  you,  and  I  at  once 
recognized  the  portrait.  That's  all  there  is  to  it." 

"You  met  her?     Where?" 

u  In  the  country,  near  Hingham,  Massachu- 
setts." 

"How?  When?  By  Jove,  old  fellow,  this 
beats  me!  What  were  you  doing  in  Hingham?" 

"  I  lived  on  a  farm  near  there,"  replied  Blake. 
Morris  leaned  forward.  For  an  instant  fear  had 
possession  of  him.  Who  was  this  man  who  lived 
on  a  farm  near  Hingham,  and  who  once  was  ac- 
quainted with  Jessie  Garden?  Was  he  John  Burt? 

Morris's  recollection  of  the  country  boy  who 
had  brought  him  near  death's  door  was  vague  and 
uncertain.  He  had  met  him  only  three  times,  and 
until  the  day  of  the  clambake  deemed  him  worthy 
of  no  more  notice  than  the  average  country  lout. 
But  there  had  been  burned  into  his  mind  a  grim 
vision  of  certain  cold  gray  eyes  and  of  a  firm  set 
mouth;  a  flashlight  of  John  Burt  as  he  leaped 
under  the  revolver  and  grappled  him  in  the  old 
inn. 

No,  those  were  not  John  Burt's  eyes,  nor  did 
the  graceful  moustache  conceal  the  implacable  Burt 

215 


JOHN  BURT 

mouth.     Arthur  Morris  breathed  an  inward  sigh  of 
relief  and  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

"From  the  time  I  was  thirteen  until  I  ran  away 
from  home,"  Blake  had  continued,  with  noncha- 
lance and  confident  mendacity,  "I  lived  on  a  farm 
about  three  miles  from  the  old  Bishop  mansion. 
Miss  Garden  used  to  visit  there  in  the  summer 
seasons  and  I  saw  her  frequently.  I  don't  sup- 
pose she  would  remember  me.  I  was  the  son  of 
a  poor  farmer,  you  know,  and  not  in  her  class, 
though  she  was  kind  enough  to  speak  to  me  on 
several  occasions — picnics,  country  celebrations  and 
affairs  like  that.  You  city  folks  stoop  to  address 
us  common  clay  during  the  vacation  period,  and  as 
I  recall  Miss  Garden  she  was  more  than  usually  dem- 
ocratic, and  therefore  popular.  The  last  time  I  saw 
her  she  cantered  past  our  house  with  a  friend  of  mine. 
That  reminds  me — dear  old  John — I  must  look  him 
up  when  I  go  to  Rocky  Woods." 

Blake  threw  back  his  head  and  reflectively 
exhaled  a  wreath  of  cigar  smoke.  Morris  looked  at 
him  with  an  expression  of  mingled  fear  and  curi- 
osity. 

"  Miss  Garden  was  about  fifteen  years  old  then," 
Blake  added,  "  and  she  wore  a  riding  suit  much  like 
that.  I  recognized  the  portrait  instantly.  Does 
this  explain  the  mystery?  I  don't  see  anything 
wonderful  about  it  except  that  you  have  her  por- 
trait, and  that  is  probably  easily  expla-'ned.  I'm  not 
prying  into  your  affairs,  old  man?" 
ai6 


IN      STRICT      CONFIDENCE 

"Not  at  all — not  at  all!  Rammohun;  brandy 
and  two  bottles  of  soda,"  ordered  Morris,  mopping 
his  forehead.  "  By  Jove,  this  is  remarkable  !  Gad, 
but  this  is  a  small  world !  You  don't  understand, 
old  man,  what  I'm  talking  about,  but  I'll  explain 
after  a  bit.  You  speak  of  a  friend  of  yours — John, 
you  call  him — what  was  his  last  name?" 

"  Burt." 

"Where  is  he  now?"  Morris  leaned  eagerly 
forward,  his  face  gray  and  his  lower  lip  twitching. 

"  Sure,  I  don't  know!  He  was  with  his  grand- 
father on  the  old  Burt  farm  in  Rocky  Woods  when 
I  left  Massachusetts.  I've  not  been  there  since, 
you  know.  None  of  my  people  live  there  now,  and 
I've  been  too  busy  or  lazy  to  write.  Why;  do  you 
know  John  Burt?" 

"Confound  it,  man,  he  shot  me!"  exclaimed 
Morris  springing  to  his  feet  and  pacing  up  and 
down  the  room.  "  He  shot  me,  I  tell  you,  and  all 
but  put  me  out  for  good!  And  he  did  it  on 
account  of  the  girl  whose  portrait  you're  admiring. 
The  blasted  cad  was  crazy  jealous  over  Miss  Garden, 
who  had  been  so  foolish  as  to  tolerate  his  company. 
When  I  pushed  him  aside — and  it  was  not  difficult, 
I  assure  you — he  picked  a  quarrel  with  me  in  a 
tavern  and  shot  me  through  the  left  lung.  Laid  me 
up  for  three  months.  That  old  desperado  of  a 
grandfather  of  his  nearly  killed  two  officers  and 
aided  him  to  escape.  He  has  not  been  heard  of 


JOHN  BURT 

"John  shot  you;  John  Burt?"  Blake  seemed 
speechless  from  astonishment. 

"  By  Jove,  old  chap,  you  gave  me  a  start,  don't 
you  know ! "  said  Morris,  with  a  long  drawn  sigh  of 
relief.  "  It's  ridiculous,  of  course,  but  for  a  moment, 
don't  you  know,  I  thought  you  were  John  Burt." 
Morris  laughed  nervously. 

"  No,  I'm  not  John  Burt,"  asserted  Blake,  with 
a  smile  that  faded  into  a  frown. 

"  Of  course  not ;  why,  certainly  not !  It's  absurd, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing!"  stammered  Morris. 
"  Beg  pardon,  old  fellow,  for  working  myself  into 
such  beastly  excitement,  but  it  is  so  confounded  odd 
that  you  know  two  persons  who  have  played  so 
large  a  part  in  my  life — though  it's  a  shame  to  men- 
tion them  in  the  same  breath."  Morris  looked  lov- 
ingly at  the  portrait  of  Jessie  Garden. 

Blake  plied  Morris  with  questions.  The  latter 
took  large  draughts  of  brandy  and  recited  the  suc- 
cessive chapters  which  led  to  the  tragedy.  Except 
that  he  made  himself  the  hero  of  the  tale,  his  ac- 
count agreed  with  that  told  by  John  Burt.  Blake 
partook  sparingly  of  the  brandy,  but  Morris  fed  his 
aroused  hate  and  recollection  with  the  fiery  fluid. 

With  the  skill  of  a  practiced  lawyer,  Blake  led 
his  host  back  to  the  subject  of  the  portrait.  For  a 
time  Morris  parried  these  indirect  questions,  but 
under  the  spell  of  Blake's  pretended  sympathy  and 
the  subtle  inspiration  of  an  intoxication  both  mental 
and  physical,  he  became  garrulously  confidential. 
218 


IN      STRICT      CONFIDENCE 

Mixed  with  a  torrent  of  invective  against  John 
Burt  were  the  fragments  of  a  narrative  which 
astounded  and  pained  James  Blake,  but  Morris  had 
reached  a  point  where  nothing  but  the  sound  of  his 
own  voice  held  his  attention.  After  hours  of  end- 
less repetitions  and  maudlin  self-laudation,  he  told 
a  story  which  can  be  condensed  in  a  few  words. 

According  to  Morris  he  was  madly  in  love 
with  Jessie  Garden  from  the  moment  he  saw  her. 
Before  he  recovered  from  his  wound  she  was  sent 
abroad  by  General  Garden  to  complete  her  educa- 
tion in  Paris  and  Berlin.  Morris  corresponded 
with  her,  and  called  on  her  in  Berlin.  Two  years 
later  General  Garden  failed  in  business,  his  private 
fortune  being  wiped  out  in  the  crash.  Jessie  came 
back  from  Europe  and  remained  a  year  with  the 
Bishops.  Arthur  had  induced  his  father  to  place 
General  Garden  in  a  salaried  position  with  the 
Morris  bank  in  New  York,  and  he  persuaded  Gen- 
eral Garden  to  accept  a  loan  sufficient  to  defray 
Jessie's  expenses  in  a  second  trip  abroad.  She 
was  in  Paris,  but  had  completed  her  studies,  and 
would  return  in  a  few  weeks.  He  was  engaged  to 
the  dear  girl,  but  the  date  of  the  wedding  had  not! 
been  set.  The  portrait  had  been  painted  for  him, 
with  Jessie's  consent,  by  a  famous  Parisian  artist. 

"I've  told  you  more'n  any  man  living,"  half 
sobbed  Morris,  as  he  leaned  on  James  Blake's 
shoulder.  "  Even  the  governor — dear  old  gov- 
ernor— don't  know  it  I  " 


JOHN  BURT 

Tears  stood  in  his  inflamed  eyes  and  trickled 
down  his  red,  blotched  cheeks. 

"  You'll  keep  my  secret,  won't  you,  old  chap  ?" 
he  pleaded  maudlinly.  "You're  the  bes'  frien' 
I've,  got  in  the  world !  People  don't  like  me  ;  they 
don't  know  me.  You  know  me,  Blake,  old  fel', 
don't  you?  I'm  sen'mental — that's  what  makes  me 
cry.  By  Jove,  you'll  be  my  bes'  man  at  weddin' — 
bes'  man  at  my  weddin' — won't  you  ?  " 

He  lurched  into  a  chair.  The  trained  and 
alert  Rammohun  appeared,  deftly  undressed  him, 
and  solemnly  conveyed  him  to  an  inner  room. 

"  Poor  John  I "  sighed  Blake  a  few  minutes 
later  as  the  Indian  servant  showed  him  his  room 
and  softly  closed  the  door.  "  Poor  John !  Love's 
a  tough  proposition,  and  I'm  afraid  John's  on  a 
dead  card  1  He  has  waited  too  long." 


22C 


CHAPTER        TWENTY-ONE 

BAD  NEWS 

WHEN  Blake  arrived  in  Hingham  he  felt  like 
a  stranger  in  a  foreign  land.  His  parents 
were  dead  and  his  relatives  scattered.  The 
village  looked  smaller  than  when  he  was  a  boy. 
The  three-story  business  blocks,  which  once  typi- 
fied monumental  architecture,  were  wonderfully 
shrunken,  and  the  old  church  seemed  a  toy  house. 
The  only  natural  feature  was  the  group  of  loungers 
on  the  depot  platform.  He  recognized  many  of 
the  familiar  figures,  whose  faces  and  postures  were 
unchanged  in  the  flight  of  years. 

"Old  Bill  Rawlins,"  the  drayman, leaned  against 
the  same  corner,  and  aimed  tobacco  juice,  with 
deadly  accuracy,  at  the  same  spot.  Hiram  Jones, 
the  retired  cobbler,  and  Ross  Taylor — whose  source 
of  income  had  been  a  Hingham  mystery  for  gen- 
erations— were  still  discussing  the  slavery  question 
with  a  fervor  unabated  since  Blake's  earliest  recol- 
lections. The  same  baggage-man  was  there,  his 
cropped  beard  a  shade  whiter,  and  his  shoulders 
slightly  more  bowed. 

None  of  them  recognized  Blake,  nor  had  they 
learned  of  his  fame.  He  felt  himself  in  a  living 
graveyard. 

Securing  an  open  carriage  and  a  driver  from 
a  livery  stable,  he  rode  through  the  quiet  streets 
and  out  into  the  country.  The  old  farmhouse, 
where  he  had  spent  a  miserable  boyhood,  looked 

221 


JOHN  BURT 

meaner  than  ever.  The  Norwegian  woman  who  re- 
sponded to  his  knock,  peered  at  him  doubtfully. 
In  broken  English  she  declared  that  she  did  not 
want  to  buy  any  sewing  machines,  and  closed  the 
door  in  his  face.  A  mangy  dog  snapped  at  his 
heels  and  escorted  him  to  the  carriage. 

"The  hero's  home-coming !"  muttered  Blake, 
with  a  grim  smile.  "  Drive  to  Thomas  Bishop's 
house,"  he  ordered  his  man. 

The  drawn  and  dust-covered  shutters  of  the 
old  mansion  told  their  own  story.  From  a  passing 
farmer  Blake  learned  that  the  Bishops  had  moved 
to  New  York  months  before.  Half  an  hour  later 
he  knocked  on  Peter  Burt's  door. 

Blake  had  been  commissioned  to  obtain  all 
possible  news  concerning  Peter  Burt,  but  John 
cautioned  him  not  to  inform  the  old  man  even  of 
his  existence.  John  briefly  explained  that  he  had 
promised  his  grandfather  not  to  communicate  with 
him  or  with  any  one  in  the  East  until  certain 
objects  had  been  accomplished.  What  these  ob- 
jects were  John  did  not  specify,  but  instructed 
Blake  to  carefully  guard  his  secret. 

As  a  boy,  Blake  stood  in  awe  and  fear  of  the 
strange  old  man,  but  the  years  had  obliterated  this 
feeling.  His  knock  sounded  hollow  on  the  great 
oaken  door,  and  he  wondered  if  the  aged  recluse 
yet  lived.  Mrs.  Jasper,  the  housekeeper,  opened 
the  door,  and  Blake  at  once  recognized  her. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Jasper?     My  name  is 

122 


BAD  NEWS 

Blake — James  Blake.  I  lived  near  here  when  a 
boy.  Don't  you — " 

"  Little  Jimmy  Blake  !  Well,  of  all  things  !  I 
never  would  have  known  ye.  Come  right  in — Mr. 
Blake." 

"Is  Mr.  Burt  here?" 

"  Y-e-s,  but  I  don't  know  if  he'll  see  ye,"  she 
said,  hesitatingly,  wiping  her  hands  on  her  apron. 
"  He  don't  see  nobody,  ye  know." 

"  Tell  him  who  I  am,  and  say  I'm  from  Cali- 
fornia," said  Blake,  who  could  think  of  no  other 
introduction. 

They  stood  in  the  old-fashioned  parlor  where 
Peter  Burt  had  bound  the  officers  the  night  John 
Burt  left  Rocky  Woods.  As  Mrs.  Jasper  hesitated, 
the  door  leading  to  the  sitting-room  opened  and 
Peter  Burt  entered.  Blake  could  not  see  that  he 
had  changed  a  whit.  Perhaps  the  broad  shoulders 
were  a  little  more  bowed,  but  the  eyes  glowed  with 
their  former  fire.  Age  had  not  ravished  the  strong 
face  nor  robbed  the  massive  figure  of  its  strength. 
He  advanced  to  the  center  of  the  room,  his  eyes 
fixed  searchingly  on  the  face  of  his  visitor. 

Beneath  the  spell  of  those  eyes  James  Blake — 
millionaire  and  master  of  finance — became  a  boyv 
with  all  his  boyish  fear  of  Peter  Burt. 

"What  have  you  to  say  to  me,  Blake?  Be 
seated,  sir." 

He  motioned  him  to  a  chair,  but  did  not  offer 
to  shake  hands.  Blake  took  a  seat  in  an  antique 

223 


JOHN  BURT 

rocker  and  shifted  his  legs  uneasily.  His  self-pos- 
session evaporated.  What  was  he  to  say  to  this  old 
man?  How  was  he  to  lie  to  him?  He  felt  that 
those  cold  gray  eyes  were  reading  his  secret  thoughts. 
He  had  posed  so  long  as  the  financial  and  intellec- 
tual representative  of  John  Burt  that  a  dual  exist- 
ence had  become  second  nature,  but  in  the  presence 
of  Peter  Burt  he  was  only  James  Blake. 

The  audacity  of  his  deception  and  the  gro- 
tesqueness  of  his  position  appalled  him.  Wearing 
the  honors  and  holding  the  fortune  won  by  John 
Burt,  he  had  dared  face  the  old  man  with  lies  poised 
on  his  lips.  The  carefully-prepared  story  vanished 
like  mist  before  a  gale.  He  would  have  given  a 
fortune  to  be  once  more  in  his  carriage.  But  he 
must  say  something. 

"I  just  called  to  pay  my  respects,  Mr.  Burt," 
he  said.  His  voice  sounded  unnatural.  His  chair 
was  strangely  uncomfortable.  "I  used  to  live  near 
here,  you  know,  Mr.  Burt,  and  I  remember  you 
when  I  was  a  little  boy.  I  used  to  play  with  your 
grandson,  John  Burt.  I — " 

"Where  is  John?"  i 

The  old  man  straightened  up,  his  huge  hands 
clasping  the  opposite  arms  of  his  chair.  Blake 
dropped  his  eyes  and  again  crossed  his  legs.  His 
mouth  was  parched  and  the  air  seemed  stifling. 

"Where  is  John?"  repeated  Peter  Burt  in  the 
same  inflection.  "Answer  me,  sir  I  " 

"John— John— I  don't—" 


BAD  NEWS 

"  Do  not  lie  to  me,  Blake.  Tell  me  what  you 
know  of  my  grandson." 

"He  is  in  California,  sir!"  exclaimed  James 
Blake.  When  these  words  were  uttered  he  felt  a 
sensation  of  relief  which  was  positively  exhilarating. 
"He  is  alive  and  well!  John  is  rich,  Mr.  Burt! 
He  is  a  millionaire  many  times  over!" 

A  grave  smile  lighted  the  features  of  Peter 
Burt.  He  closed  his  eyes  and  lay  back  in  the  chair. 

"Go  on;  tell  me  about  it,"  he  said,  as  Blake 
paused. 

For  an  hour  or  more  the  head  of  the  firm  of 
James  Blake  &  Company  recited  the  history  of 
John  Burt's  career  in  California,  and  the  result  of 
the  recent  speculative  campaign  in  New  York. 
Once  in  a  while  the  old  man  asked  a  question,  but 
he  made  no  comment  until  the  narrative  was  ended. 

"Your  heart  dominates  your  judgment,  but 
that  is  a  trait  and  not  a  fault,"  he  said  as  he  arose 
and  offered  his  hand  to  James  Blake.  "  God  gives 
us  emotions  and  faculties ;  from  them  we  must  de- 
velop character.  Do  not  charge  yourself  with  a 
broken  promise  to  John.  Say  to  him  that  I  ordered 
you  to  give  this  information.  He  has  kept  his  pact 
with  me.  I  send  him  my  blessing.  Say  to  him 
that  I  am  strong  and  well  and  happy.  Say  to  him 
that  his  future  field  of  work  is  in  New  York  city." 

Peter  Burt  released  Blake's  hand. 

"  You  have  done  well  to  respect  the  confidence 
which  John  has  placed  in  you,"  he  continued.  "  You 


JOHN  BURT 

love  money,  yet  money  has  not  tempted  you  to 
swerve  from  the  path  of  honor.  Take  heed  lest 
that  which  money  often  commands  may  cause  you 
to  betray  your  friends.  There  are  temptations  and 
lusts  more  alluring  than  the  craving  for  wealth. 
You  are  nearing  a  crisis,  Blake.  Be  warned  by 
this  admonition.  Give  my  love  and  blessing  to  my 
grandson,  and  say  to  him  that  I  shall  see  him  when 
his  fondest  hopes  are  realized.  Good-day,  Blake." 

Peter  Burt  stood  in  the  doorway  and  watched 
until  the  carriage  disappeared  beyond  the  old 
graveyard. 

"I'm  glad  that's  ended!"  said  Blake  to  him- 
self. "  I  wonder  what  I  told  the  old  man?  Every- 
thing, I  guess.  Feel  as  if  I'd  been  in  a  trance, 
I'm  nearing  a  crisis,  am  I?  Well,  I'm  used  to 
crises  and  guess  I  can  stand  one  more.  Who's 
coming  ?  His  face  looks  familiar.  It's  Sam  Rounds ! 
Stop,  driver!  Hollo,  Sam !  How  are  you?" 

Seated  in  a  stylish  road  cart,  behind  a  rangy, 
high-stepping  trotter,  was  one  of  the  companions 
of  Blake's  boyhood.  Sam  checked  his  horse,  and, 
with  a  puzzled  grin,  looked  into  the  speaker's  face. 

"  Haou  de  ye  dew?"  he  drawled,  slackening 
the  lines.  "  Ycr  face  looks  fee-miliar  like,  but  ye've 
got  the  best  of  me,  an'  I  don't  regular  forgit  a 
face  nohow.  An'  yer  voice  don't  sound  strange 
like,  either.  I  believe  I  know  ye  !  It's  Jim  Blake ! 
Haou  air  ye,  Jim?  Well,  well,  well!  Who'd  a 
thunk  it ;  who'd  a  thunk  it  ?  " 
226 


BAD  NEWS 

Sam  reached  across  and  shook  hands  with  a 
vigor  which  nearly  pulled  Blake  out  of  his  car- 
riage. 

"  Air  ye  the  James  Blake  I've  been  readin' 
erbout?  The  one  that's  been  givin'  them  New 
York  sharps  a  whirl  in  stocks?"  asked  Sam. 

Blake  smiled  and  nodded  his  head. 

"  Is  that  so  ?  Well,  well,  well!  Say,  I'm  plumb 
glad  to  hear  it  1"  and  Sam's  smiling  face  showed  it. 
"  I'm  mighty  glad  Rocky  Woods  has  turned  out 
somethin'  better'n  clam  diggers,  hoss  dealers  an' 
circus  riders.  Say,  you  trimmed  'em  up  right  an' 
proper,  didn't  ye  ?  Shore,  ye  did  !  Ain't  never 
hearn  of  John  Burt,  have  ye  ?  No  ?  Well,  he'll 
turn  up  on  top  some  day,  an'  don't  ye  fergit,  Sam 
Rounds  allers  said  so.  John  is  clean  strain  an'  a 
thoroughbred,  if  thar  ever  was  one.  That's  right ! 
Well,  I'm  glad  ter  meet  you  ergain,  Jim.  Where 
be  ye  goin'  to,  Jim?" 

"  I'm  going  back  to  New  York  to-night,"  re- 
plied Blake.  "  From  there  I  return  to  San  Fran- 
cisco,1 but  expect  soon  to  make  New  York  my 
home." 

"Is  that  so?  I'm  livin'  in  New  York  now," 
said  Sam,  handing  Blake  his  card.  "  Moved  there 
several  years  ago.  Started  in  ter  sell  horses,  an' 
then  branched  out  an'  went  intew  the  provision  an' 
commission  business.  Mother  an'  I  are  here  on  a 
visit  fer  a  few  days.  I've  been  doin'  fairly  middlin' 
well  in  New  York,  Jim.  When  you  write  me,  be 

2*7 


JOHN  BURT 

shore   an'  put  '  Hon.'  before  my   name,"  and  Sam 
laughed  until  the  rocks  re-echoed  his  merriment. 

"How  is  that?"  asked  Blake,  gazing  blankly 
at  the  card. 

"  Read  what  it  says,"  insisted  Sam.  "  I'm 
alderman  of  my  deestrict,  an'  have  just  been  re- 
elected  tew  a  second  term.  Fact !  " 

"  I  congratulate  you,  Sam,"  said  Blake,  heartily. 

"  Sorry  ye  haven't  time  tew  wait  over  an'  go 
back  with  us,"  Sam  said.  "  But  if  ye  are  goin'  tew 
locate  in  New  York,  I'll  see  lots  of  ye.  You  must 
let  me  know  when  you  git  there.  I  know  mother 
would  like  tew  see  you.  We  was  wonderin'  the 
other  night  if  you  was  the  Blake  of  James  Blake 
an'  Company." 

"  I  certainly  will  look  you  up  when  I'm  in  New 
York,"  said  Blake.  "  My  regards  to  your  mother, 
and  say  I'm  sorry  I  didn't  have  time  to  call  on  her. 
Are  you  married,  Sam  ?  " 

"  Nop,  but  I  has  hopes,"  laughed  Sam,  gather- 
ing up  the  lines.  "  Good-bye,  Jim,  good-bye,  an' 
more  luck  ter  ye  !  " 

"  Same  to  you,  Sam ;  good-bye !  " 
***** 

Ten  days  later  James  Blake  arrived  in  San 
Francisco.  His  train  was  delayed,  and  the  hour 
was  late,  but  he  drove  to  John's  apartment,  and  was 
greeted  by  him  in  the  old  study  room.  Blake  sat 
where  he  looked  at  the  portrait  of  Jessie  Garden. 
His  heart  sank  within  him.  How  could  he  break 
228 


BAD  NEWS 

the  news  to  his  friend  ?  John  heartily  congratu- 
lated Blake  on  his  masterly  generalship. 

"  We  will  talk  business  to-morrow,  Jim,"  he 
said.  "  I  am  more  anxious  to  hear  of  other  mat- 
ters. Now,  tell  me  the  news.  Did  you  hear  of 
Miss  Garden?  Is  my  grandfather  alive?" 

"  Peter  Burt  is  alive  and  well,"  said  Blake,  glad 
to  bring  some  good  tidings. 

"  Alive  and  well,"  repeated  John  Burt.  "  May 
God  bless  him !  You  saw  him,  did  you,  Jim?  How 
I  long  to  meet  him  again!  That  is  good  news.  Go 
on,  Jim." 

"Arthur  Morris  is  alive,"  said  Blake,  without 
lifting  his  eyes. 

"  The  local  papers  contained  that  news,"  ob- 
served John,  carelessly.  "The  day  after  you  left  for 
New  York  announcement  was  made  of  his  succes- 
sion to  the  management  of  the  business  of  Ran- 
dolph Morris  &  Company.  Did  you  see  him,  Jim? 
How  does  he  stand  in  New  York?  What's  the 
matter,  old  man?  You're  pale.  Are  you  ill?" 

"  I'm  all  right,  John." 

The  portrait  of  Jessie  Garden  filled  his  vision, 
and  he  turned  so  that  he  could  not  see  it. 

"  I've  bad  news  for  you,  John,"  he  said, 
desperately.  "  I  may  as  well  tell  you  and  be  over 
with  it.  Miss  Garden's  engaged  to  be  married!" 

John's  lip  tightened  and  a  red  spot  burned  on 
his  cheek. 

"To  whom?"     H»s  hands  clutched  the  arms 


JOHN  BURT 

of  his  chair,  and  his  attitude  was  the  same  as  that 
of  Peter  Hurt's  when  he  demanded  news  of  his 
grandson. 

"To  Arthur  Morris,  John." 

"It's  a  lie — an  infamous,  damnable  lie!" 

John  Burt  sprang  to  his  feet,  hurling  the  chair 
backward  with  a  crash  as  his  hands  relaxed  their 
tension.  He  strode  forward,  his  eyes  blazing  with 
fury  and  his  features  convulsed  with  passion. 

"  It's  a  lie,  Blake — it's  a  lie,  and  you  know  it's 
a  lie!" 

He  towered  above  his  astonished  friend.  His 
fingers  were  clenched  and  his  lips  twitched.  Turn- 
ing abruptly,  he  walked  across  the  room  with  his 
hands  pressed  over  his  forehead.  For  a  moment  he 
stood  silent,  then  abruptly  turned  to  Blake  with  his 
hands  outstretched. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Jim!  Forgive  me,  old 
man !  I  didn't  know  what  I  was  saying.  Forgive 
me,  Jim,  will  you?" 

"Certainly,  John,  but  there's  nothing  to  for- 
give," replied  Blake  heartily  as  he  grasped  his 
friend's  hands.  "  It's  my  fault,  anyhow.  I'm  a  fool. 
I  always  blurt  things  out.  Perhaps  it  is  a  lie.  Let 
us  hope  so,  John." 

For  moments  no  word  was  spoken.  John  Burt 
stood  by  an  opened  window,  with  his  back  to  his 
friend,  and  gazed  out  into  the  darkness. 

"Tell  me  all  about  it,  Jim."  he  said,  breaking 
the  silence.  The  grave  face  and  deep  gray  eyes 
230 


BAD  NEWS 

betrayed  no  trace  of  the  storm  which  had  swept 
over  him. 

Blake  related  the  details  of  his  introduction  to 
Arthur  Morris  and  told  of  the  night  spent  in  the 
latter's  apartment.  He  repeated  the  conversation 
as  nearly  as  he  could  recall  it.  He  had  seen  Mor- 
ris again  for  a  few  minutes  on  his  return  from 
Hingham. 

"  He  didn't  revert  to  the  subject  except  to 
apologize  for  drinking  too  much,"  explained  Blake. 
"  He  asked  me  what  he  had  said  and  I  assured  him 
my  mind  was  a  blank  on  that  subject,  and  that  I 
couldn't  even  remember  how  or  when  I  retired.  He 
was  pleased  at  this  and  we  parted  great  friends.  I 
sounded  his  chum  Kingsley,  and  also  a  chap  named 
Ridgway.  Morris  has  told  them  substantially  the 
same  thing,  and  I  judge  under  about  the  same  cir- 
cumstances. It  seems  to  be  a  case  of  in  vino  veritas 
— which  is  the  only  Latin  quotation  I  know." 

John  abruptly  changed  the  subject  and  ques- 
tioned Blake  about  his  interview  with  Peter  Burt, 
and  smiled  quietly  when  he  related  his  experience 
with  the  old  man.  He  was  not  displeased  that 
Blake  had  been  forced  to  reveal  his  secret. 

"  I  have  anticipated  his  advice  about  going  to 
New  York,"  said  John.  "My  plans  are  made,  and 
if  you  are  willing,  we  will  make  New  York  the 
future  headquarters  of  James  Blake  &  Company, 
with  the  San  Francisco  establishment  a  branch  house. 
Matthews  is  capable  of  handling  the  business  there. 

231 


JOHN  BURT 

Think  it  over,  Jim,  and  let  me  know  your  decision 
as  soon  as  possible." 

"  I've  thought  it  over,"  said  Blake.  "  I'm  ready 
to  go  to  New  York  the  minute  you  say  so." 

"Very  well,  we'll  go  this  month,"  said  John 
Burt. 

It  was  long  past  midnight  when  Blake  drove 
away  and  left  John  Burt  to  the  harrowing  society  of 
his  thoughts.  For  hours  he  sat  before  the  portrait 
of  Jessie  Garden.  He  recalled  the  day  when  she 
had  laughingly  placed  the  cherished  tintype  in  his 
hand.  And  now  she  was  in  Paris,  by  the  grace  and 
under  the  bounty  of  Arthur  Morris — the  one  man 
in  all  the  world  he  hated.  And  her  portrait — fairer 
than  the  one  before  him — adorned  the  rooms  of  this 
man.  In  his  vision  he  saw  her  glorified  by  the  lov- 
ing touch  of  the  years;  radiant  in  face  and  figure, 
and  enhanced  by  the  charms  of  a  cultured  mind — 
Jessie  Garden — his  Jessie  Garden — the  affianced 
bride  of  Arthur  Morris! 

"It's  a  lie — an  infamous,  damnable  liel"  he 
repeated  as  he  paced  up  and  down  the  room.  "It 
is  not  so — it  shall  not  be  so !  " 

But  the  black  clouds  of  doubt  again  obscured 
the  rift  made  by  vehement  hope.  What  reason  had 
he  to  doubt  the  statement  made  by  Morris  ?  Mar- 
shall Garden's  fortune  had  been  swept  away,  and  he 
was  practically  a  pensioner  on  the  Morris  fortunes. 
Arthur  Morris  had  succeeded  to  the  management 
of  his  father's  affairs.  Was  it  not  natural  that 


BAD  NEWS 

General  Garden  should  look  with  favor  on  the 
young  millionaire's  suit?  Had  not  Morris  wealth, 
influence,  social  standing?  Was  not  Jessie  under 
obligations  to  him  ? 

And  what  of  Jessie?  What  valid,  lasting  claim 
had  he  on  Jessie  Garden  ?  A  few  words  spoken 
under  the  stress  of  great  excitement,  a  promise  of 
her  friendship  and  of  her  prayers — nothing  more. 

She  had  given  him  no  assurance  of  her  love. 
When  last  he  saw  Jessie  she  was  in  her  teens — a 
laughing,  careless  schoolgirl,  who  enjoyed  his  com- 
pany, but  whose  heart  knew  nothing  of  love.  True, 
she  had  thrown  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  kissed 
him  as  they  parted  in  the  night-shadows  of  the  old 
maples,  but — but  that  was  years  before.  Tears 
came  to  his  eyes  as  again  he  lived  those  sweet 
moments. 

No  word  from  him  had  come  to  her  during 
these  years.  For  all  she  knew  he  was  dead.  What 
right  had  he  to  expect  that  she  should  play  the  part 
of  Penelope  to  a  silent,  untrothed  Ulysses  who 
refused  to  return  from  exile?  Doubtless  her  life 
had  been  shadowed  by  her  father's  misfortunes. 
Doubtless  her  love  for  him  was  such  that  she  was 
willing  to  make  the  sacrifice — if  sacrifice  it  were — 
of  a  marriage  with  Arthur  Morris.  This  suggested 
a  train  of  bitter  conjecture. 

Why  had  he  not  been  content  with  a  modest 
fortune?  Why  had  he  devoted  years  to  the  amass- 
ing of  wealth  which  now  mocked  his  love?  Why 

233 


JOHN  B  R       T 

had  he  despised  the  pretensions  of  Arthur  Morris? 
Why  had  he  failed  to  take  steps  to  positively  ascer- 
tain the  result  of  Morris's  wound?  Why  had  he 
relied  on  the  prediction  of  a  half-crazed  old  man? 
Again,  why  should  he  aspire  to  the  love  of  a  woman 
who  was  ready  to  throw  herself  into  the  arms  of  a 
besotted  millionaire?  The  clock  on  the  mantel 
angrily  ticked,  "Why?"  "Why?"  "Why?" 
"Why?" 

The  brain  of  an  intelligent  man  sits  as  a  judge 
and  listens  to  the  evidence  presented  by  the  passions 
and  prejudices,  and  weighs  it  against  the  calmer 
pleading  of  the  judgment.  No  human  being  can  stifle 
the  voices  of  evil  or  unjust  thoughts,  but  a  just  mind 
can  ignore  them  with  a  decision  which  leads  to 
action.  The  raucous  notes  of  jealousy  died  away; 
the  strident  assertions  of  selfish  hope  were  stilled, 
and  with  open  heart  and  calm  brain  John  Burt 
sought  the  path  he  should  follow. 

The  words  of  Peter  Burt  came  back  to  him: 
"  It  is  written  in  God's  word :  '  If  thou  faint  in  the 
day  of  adversity  thy  strength  is  small ;  for  a  just 
man  falleth  seven  times  and  riseth  up  again ! ' '  Had 
he  fallen  seven  times?  From  the  hour  he  left  the 
old  man's  side  until  that  night,  no  shade  of  disap- 
pointment had  come  into  his  life.  Success  had  fol- 
lowed success  and  triumph  had  succeeded  triumph. 
Every  prophecy  made  by  Peter  Burt  had  been  more 
than  fulfilled. 

As  he  recalled  the  past  he    remembered  with 

»34 


BAD  NEWS 

keen  joy  the  parting  words  of  the  old  man:  "  You 
have  the  love  of  a  woman  I  respect.  She  will  wait 
for  you.  Do  not  let  the  impatience  of  your  love 
imperil  your  chances." 

The  sense  of  coming  victory  stole  over  him  as 
he  stood  before  the  portrait  and  repeated  the  words: 
"She  will  wait  for  you;  she  will  wait  for  you." 
That  which  is  not  menaced;  that  which  does  not 
demand  the  danger  and  turmoil  of  a  battle,  is  not 
worth  struggling  for. 

The  thought  came,  as  he  gazed  at  the  pure  pro- 
file of  the  face  in  the  portrait,  that  fate  had  strangely 
reversed  their  positions.  Jessie  Garden  was  no 
longer  an  heiress.  She  was  dependent  on  the 
patronage  of  others.  He  could  not  believe  her 
capable  of  marrying  Arthur  Morris  for  money. 
Would  she  wed  John  Burt  for  money  ?  He  had  as- 
pired to  meet  and  win  her  as  an  equal.  In  a  monetary 
way  their  stations  Awere  now  farther  removed  than 
ever. 

He  imagined  the  scorn  of  this  penniless  girl 
when  he  laid  his  vulgar  millions  at  her  feet.  She  did 
not  wish  a  purchased  love;  he  did  not  desire  a  bar- 
tered triumph. 

The  edges  of  the  drawn  curtains  were  tinged 
with  the  deep  blue  light  of  dawn.  He  raised  them, 
opened  the  windows,  and  drank  in  the  cool,  pure 
air  of  a  California  morning.  Birds  twittered  in  the 
trees,  and  the  idle  babble  of  a  brook  sounded 
musical  as  an  accompaniment.  Leaping  lightly  to 

ass 


JOHN  BURT 

the  lawn,  he  strolled  to  an  open  space   and  saw  the 
sun  scale  the  distant  range  and  melt  the  thin  clouds 

into  a  perfect  sky. 

***** 

Four  weeks  later  John  Burt  stood  on  a  ferry- 
boat and  gazed  for  the  first  time  on  the  matchless 
water  front  and  the  ragged  but  impressive  sky-line 
of  New  York  city. 

John  Burt  approached  New  York  as  an  un- 
heralded conqueror.  Within  the  guarded  vaults  of 
the  metropolis  his  millions  reposed.  His  unseen 
hands  had  shaken  Wall  Street,  and  his  secret  influ- 
ence helped  to  shape  the  financial  map  of  a  continent. 

Yet  he  was  unknown.  In  that  swarming  mass 
of  people  only  one  human  being  knew  that  John 
Burt  lived. 

Blake  had  preceded  him,  and  had  installed  the 
permanent  headquarters  of  James  Blake  &  Com- 
pany. He  met  John  as  he  stepped  from  the  train. 
The  two  old  friends  greeted  each  other  with  un- 
feigned cordiality.  Blake  was  in  high  spirits. 

"I'm  glad  you're  here,  John,"  he  said,  as  they 
were  seated  in  a  carriage.  "I've  been  in  an  awful 
fix  for  a  week  or  more.  What  in  thunder  is  my 
opinion  on  the  new  currency  bill,  John?  Ten  re- 
porters and  a  hundred  financiers  have  asked  me 
that  question,  and  I  have  refused  to  commit  my- 
self. New  York  and  Washington  long  to  know 
how  James  Blake  stands  on  this  burning  issue. 
What  shall  I  tell  them,  John?" 

1J6 


BAD  NEWS 

"We'll  discuss  that  over  dinner,"  laughed 
John.  He  gazed  at  Blake  earnestly,  and  asked : 
"Do  you  know  if  Miss  Garden  has  returned?" 

"  I  have  been  unable  to  ascertain  that,"  said 
Blake.  "I  haven't  seen — anybody — anybody  who 
would  know.  I've  been  awfully  busy,  John." 

"  I  know  you  have,"  returned  John,  in  his  old, 
cordial  manner.  "  Have  you  secured  a  hut  for  me, 
Jim?" 

"  I  have  fitted  up  a  dream  of  an  apartment  for 
you,  and  have  ordered  your  favorite  dinner." 

The  following  day  John  Burt  began  his  New 
York  career. 


CHAPTER        TWENTY-TWO 

A  FOREIGN  MISSION 

IN  the  world  of  finance  Arthur  Morris  was  a 
trapper.  With  instinctive  cunning,  he  set 

snares  and  dug  pitfalls  along  the  paths  trod 
by  the  unwary.  The  legitimate  profits  of  plain 
dealing  had  no  attraction  for  him.  He  lacked  the 
courage  of  the  Nimrod  who  meets  his  unfettered 
prey  in  the  open,  and  who  experiences  a  keen  de- 
light in  the  resistance  of  his  quarry.  He  pre- 
ferred to  work  in  the  dark,  and  to  shoot  from  am- 
bush. He  had  at  times  the  patience  of  the  fisher- 
man, who  relies  on  a  well-baited  hook,  or  of  the 
hunter,  who,  behind  a  blind,  waits  for  flying  ducks 
to  mingle  with  his  painted  decoys. 

Arthur  Morris  was  a  firm  believer  in  the  innate 
dishonesty  of  mankind.  He  held  that  all  the  world 
was  in  a  conspiracy  to  despoil  him  ;  and  affirmed 
that  any  means  of  reprisal  were  justifiable.  His 
favorite  motto  was :  "  Everybody  and  everything 
has  a  price — get  the  price."  He  weighed  fellow- 
ship, sentiment,  friendship  and  love  in  the  same 
scales  with  gold,  and  found  many  who  applauded 
his  system. 

In  this  hurried  sketch  of  Arthur  Morris  no 
attempt  is  made  to  depict  an  abnormal  character  or 
to  create  an  imaginary  villain.  He  was  no  better 
nor  worse  than  thousands  contemporaneous  with 
him,  or  who  exist  to-day,  and  who  will  live  in  the 
future.  Like  others  of  his  class,  he  inherited 


A      FOREIGN      MISSION 

wealth  without  culture,  and  selfishness  without  sen- 
timent. 

When  a  hog  is  bequeathed  the  strength  of  a 
Hon  he  uses  it  as  a  hog.  If  the  massing  of  wealth 
in  the  hands  of  a  few  individuals  be  decided  neces- 
sary for  the  future  good  of  society,  its  holders 
should  be  selected  by  civil  service  examination,  and 
not  by  the  whims  of  heredity. 

By  no  use  of  that  much  abused  word  "  love  " 
was  it  possible  for  Arthur  Morris  to  love  anything, 
much  more  a  woman.  That  fine  selfishness  which 
longs  to  make  sacrifices  for  others  ;  which  gives  for 
the  pleasure  of  giving,  and  which  suffers  for  the 
happiness  of  suffering,  was  foreign  to  Arthur  Mor- 
ris. Devoid  of  introspection,  and  unskilled  in  the 
exact  use  of  words,  he  thought  that  he  loved  Jessie 
Garden,  when  in  fact  the  sensation  was  that  of 
covetousness.  He  wanted  her.  He  was  ambitious 
to  add  her  to  his  possessions.  He  was  annoyed 
that  his  infatuation  was  so  great  that  he  was  willing 
— and  in  fact  eager — to  give  her  his  name.  This 
was  a  sacrifice,  a  concession,  and  he  hated  to  yield 
a  point,  but  he  realized  that  it  was  necessary. 

"Marriage  is  such  a  beastly  conventional 
thing,  don't  you  know,"  he  observed  to  Blakely,  on 
one  of  the  few  occasions  when  he  discussed  other 
than  material  questions.  "  By  Jove,  old  chap,  I 
sometimes  think,  don't  you  know,  that  a  gentleman 
never  should  marry.  Loses  his  independence,  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing,  don't  you  know.  That 


JOHN  BURT 

French  chap  Monte — Monte — what's  his  name? 
— or  perhaps  it  was  some  one  else  ;  anyhow,  he  had 
the  right  idea,  don't  you  know.  Marriage  is  all 
right  for  the  lower  classes.  It's  good  enough  for 
them  and  more  than  they  deserve,  but  it  restricts  a 
gentleman,  don't  you  know,  Blakely." 

"Never  thought  of  it  before,  commodore," 
said  Blakely  with  a  smile.  "You  think  it's  bad 
form,  eh?  Perhaps  you're  right.  Why  don't  you 
write  a  book  about  it?  Call  it  'Morris  on  Mar- 
riage.' Corking  good  title !  Euphonious  and  allit- 
erative. 'Morris  on  Marriage;  or  Musings  on 
Mediaeval  and  Modern  Matrimony' — how  is  that 
for  a  warm  title?  You  might  have  your  French 
friend  Monte,  what's  his  name,  write  the  introduc- 
tion. It  would  make  a  hit,  commodore." 

Before  Morris  had  recovered  from  his  wound, 
Jessie  Garden  had  left  for  Europe.  During  his 
convalescence  he  was  consumed  by  two  passions: 
first  to  arrest  and  punish  John  Burt,  and  second  to 
see  or  hear  from  Jessie  Garden.  Yielding  to  his 
demands,  the  elder  Morris  spent  thousands  of  dol- 
lars in  a  fruitless  attempt  to  locate  John  Burt.  The 
officers  had  followed  him  to  Peter  Burt's,  but  no 
trace  of  him  was  found  after  that  night.  The  old 
man  was  arrested,  and  though  vigorously  prose- 
cuted, was  discharged  by  the  judge,  who  repri- 
manded the  officers  for  attempting  to  enter  his 
house  without  a  warrant. 

Morris  had  no  difficulty  in  obtaining  from 
140 


A      FOREIGN      MISSION 

General  Garden  the  continental  address  of  his  daugh- 
ter. She  was  studying  in  Berlin,  and  Arthur  Mor- 
ris wrote  a  long  letter  informing  her  of  his  complete 
recovery.  He  calmly  ignored  the  events  which  led 
to  the  shooting,  and  seemed  to  have  forgotten  the 
rebuff  he  had  received  at  her  hands.  The  letter 
read  as  if  their  last  meeting  had  been  under  the 
shadow  of  the  maples  on  the  Bishop  lawn. 

"Every  effort  is  being  made  to  locate  that 
young  desperado  John  Burt,"  he  wrote,  "  but  thus 
far  he  has  evaded  the  officers  of  the  law.  Though 
the  affair  resulted  seriously  to  me,  I  cannot  help  but 
laugh  at  the  presumption  of  this  countryman,  who, 
it  seems,  was  insanely  jealous  over  our  friendship. 
With  his  usual  fofesight,  my  dear  father  effectually 
suppressed  any  mention  of  your  name.  I  doubt  if 
either  of  us  ever  see  this  fellow  Burt  again,  and  I  am 
sure  we  can  endure  his  absence  with  complacency. 
I  am  thankful  that  his  homicidal  mania  was  not 
directed  against  you.  As  you  may  have  heard, 
there  is  a  taint  of  insanity  in  his  family,  and  they 
say  that  his  grandfather  has  killed  a  score  of  men. 
But  this  is  enough  on  a  mutually  disagreeable  sub- 
ject, and  I  promise  you,  Miss  Garden,  not  to  refer 
to  it  again.  I  wish  you  could  have  been  present  at 
our  closing  reception,"  etc.,  etc. 

Morris  waited  a  month  for  an  answer  to  this 
letter  and  then  wrote  a  second  one,  which  was  re- 
turned unopened.  In  a  towering  passion  he  went  to 
his  father  and  unbosomed  the  story  of  his  treatment. 

241 


JOHN  BURT 

"You  told  me  once  that  old  Garden  would  go 
broke  onL.  &  O.,"  he  declared,  pacing  up  u  id 
down  the  room.  "I  didn't  pay  much  attention  to 
i  what  you  said  at  the  time,  but  I  know  all  about  it 
now.  I've  been  looking  over  your  books,  gov- 
ernor. You've  got  him  long  on  a  rotten  stock.  Go 
ahead  and  squeeze  him!  You  can  do  it.  Put  the 
screws  to  him !  Then  when  he  comes  whining 
around  for  mercy  we'll  see  what  Miss  Independence 
Jessie  will  do!  I'll  bet  she'll  answer  my  letters 
then!  I'll  make  her  pay  for  this  some  day.  You've 
got  to  do  something,  governor !  " 

"  If  you  think  I'm  going  to  run  my  banking 
and  Wall  Street  business  so  as  to  promote  your 
correspondence  with  a  doll-faced  girl,  you — " 

"She's  not  a  doll-faced  girl!"  declared  Morris, 
turning  fiercely  on  his  father. 

"Well,  she's  a  girl,  and  they're  all  alike," 
growled  Randolph  Morris.  "The  prettier  they  are 
the  more  trouble  they  raise.  I  thought  you  told 
me  you  wasn't  going  to  marry  her?  Didn't  I  tell 
you  she  won't  have  a  dollar — not  one  dollar?  You're 
an  ass." 

The  old  banker  lay  back  wearily  in  his  chair 
and  regarded  his  son  and  heir  with  an  expression  of 
deep  disgust. 

"  I'll  marry  her  if  I  want  to,"  said  Morris,  dog- 
gedly. "I  suppose  I've  got  to  marry  somebody 
and  she's  as  good  as  any  one.  What  the  devil  has 
old  Garden's  money  got  to  do  about  it  ?  When  he 

«4* 


A      FOREIGN      MISSION 

loses  it  you  get  it,  and  when  you  die  I  get  it,  and  if 
she  marries  me  she  quits  even.  It's  the  only  chance 
she's  got.  Go  ahead  and  squeeze  him,  governor!" 

"  You  talk  like  a  fool,"  said  the  fond  parent. 
"You  know  a  lot  about  stocks,  don't  you?  I 
couldn't  bear  L.  &  O.  now  if  I  tried,  and  wouldn't 
if  I  could.  I'm  interested  in  other  stocks  besides 
L.  &  O.  You  attend  to  your  own  business,  if  you 
have  any,  and  keep  your  nose  out  of  my  books.  If 
you're  bound  to  marry,  why  don't  you  marry 
Thompson's  daughter.  He'll  die  in  a  year  and 
leave  her  four  millions." 

"  I  don't  want  her,"  said  Morris  loftily.  "You 
need  not  worry  about  my  matrimonial  alliances. 
Let  me  have  five  thousand  dollars.  I'm  going  to 
Europe." 

Randolph  Morris  stormed  and  fumed  and  then 
wrote  a  cheque  for  the  amount  demanded. 

Six  weeks  later  Arthur  Morris  was  in  Berlin. 
He  had  perfected  his  plans,  and  after  securing 
apartments  in  Leipziger  Strasse  set  about  their 
execution. 

He  was  too  shrewd  to  announce  his  arrival  by 
a  letter  to  Jessie,  having  good  reason  to  suspect 
that  it  would  meet  the  same  reception  as  had  the 
others.  He  retained  a  capable  valet  and  commis- 
sioned him  to  obtain  information  concerning  Miss 
Garden's  daily  and  weekly  routine.  He  had  no 
trouble  in  influencing  a  servant  to  tell  all  she  knew 
of  Miss  Garden's  regular  engagements. 


JOHN  BURT 

It  rained  the  following  day,  and  Morris's  valet 
brought  word  that  Miss  Garden  would  not  venture 
out  in  the  storm.  His  master  was  pleased  to  learn 
that  Miss  Garden  was  in  the  habit  of  going  alone, 
and  that  if  the  weather  permitted,  she  proposed  to: 
visit  Count  Raczynski's  gallery  on  the  morrow. 

Berlin  is  dreary  on  a  rainy  day,  and  Morris 
spent  the  hours  nursing  his  impatience  and  prac- 
ticing the  phrases  he  proposed  to  deliver  when  he 
met  Jessie  face  to  face.  He  paced  up  and  down 
his  room,  doffed  his  hat,  smiled  and  bowed  to  an 
imaginary  Miss  Garden.  He  conjured  her  in  vari- 
ous moods,  and  framed  responses  to  meet  all  con- 
tingencies his  limited  imagination  could  invent. 

The  famous  Raczynski  gallery  is  on  the  Exer- 
cierplatz,  outside  the  Bradenburg  gate,  and  con- 
tains a  splendid  collection  of  modern  German 
paintings.  The  day  dawned  bright  and  warm  after 
the  storm,  and  Morris  was  in  fine  spirits  when  he 
stepped  into  his  carriage  and  rode  down  the  ave- 
nue. He  entered  the  gallery  and  roamed  through 
the  halls  to  make  sure  Jessie  had  not  arrived.  He 
then  stood  near  the  entrance  and  waited. 

His  patience  was  rewarded.  He  recognized 
Jessie  as  she  crossed  the  street.  She  was  alone, 
and  Morris  stepped  into  the  dark  of  the  vesti- 
bule and  followed  when  she  entered  the  main 
hall.  Jessie  carried  a  sketch  book  under  her  arm, 
and  took  a  seat  opposite  one  of  Schinkel's  master- 
works.  Opening  the  book,  she  proceeded  to  work 


A      FOREIGN      MISSION 

on  an  unfinished  sketch,  and  in  a  moment  was 
oblivious  to  everything  except  the  superb  painting 
before  her. 

This  was  a  situation  for  which  Morris  had  not 
provided,  but  he  deemed  it  singularly  propitious. 
There  were  only  a  few  persons  in  the  hall.  Two 
students  were  hard  at  work  in  the  opposite  quar- 
ter of  the  room.  A  near-sighted  Russian,  with 
enormous  glasses,  was  bent  in  a  half-circle  as  he 
leaned  forward  to  study  the  works  of  art.  An 
Italian,  with  half-closed  eyes  fixed  intently  on  a 
Rauch  statue,  was  motionless  as  the  marble  figure 
which  held  his  rapt  attention.  A  subdued,  even 
light  filled  the  room. 

Under  no  circumstances  could  these  cherished 
heirlooms  of  genius  have  appealed  to  Arthur  Mor- 
ris. This  atmosphere  of  symbolism,  this  Parnassus 
of  art,  meant  nothing  to  him,  nor  did  he  have  the 
tact  to  realize  that  he  could  not  have  chosen  a  mo- 
ment more  intrusive  and  inauspicious  for  the  plead- 
ing of  his  cause.  He  only  knew  that  the  oppor- 
tunity he  had  awaited  for  months  was  at  hand.  For 
this  he  had  traveled  thousands  of  miles,  spurred 
on  by  impatience  and  lashed  by  wounded  pride. 

He  stood  a  few  steps  back  of  Jessie  and  de- 
voured her  with  his  eyes.  With  wistful  gaze  he 
studied  the  perfect  profile  of  her  cheek  as  she 
turned  her  head  to  look  at  the  canvas.  He  noted 
the  soft  folds  of  her  hair,  the  rounded  curves  of 
her  neck,  and  as  one  spell-bound  watched  her  deft 

245 


JOHN  BURT 

fingers  as  they  glided  over  the  surface  of  the 
sketch  book. 

With  a  little  sigh  of  disappointment  Jessie 
dropped  the  folio  on  her  lap.  Not  in  months  had 
she  drawn  with  less  skill.  The  perspective  was 
wrong,  and  the  draughting  atrocious.  And  she 
had  been  so  sure  of  her  subject.  She  would  not 
dare  show  so  sad  a  botch  to  Professor  Riedesel. 
What  could  be  the  matter?  She  felt  oppressed 
and  under  some  malign  influence.  Instinctively  she 
turned  and  looked  squarely  into  the  ardent  eyes  and 
eager  face  of  Arthur  Morris.  With  an  involuntary 
cry  of  surprise,  fear  and  vexation,  she  sprang  to 
her  feet,  the  sketch  book  falling  to  the  floor. 

"Why,  Miss  Garden!"  exclaimed  Morris,  with 
simulated  astonishment.  "  Really,  this  is  an  unex- 
pected pleasure.  I  am  delighted  to  meet  you.  Per- 
mit me — ."  And  he  picked  up  the  sketch  book, 
bowed,  and  extended  his  hand. 

In  these  brief  seconds  Jessie  had  regained  her 
self-possession.  By  an  effort  she  withstood  the 
wave  of  indignation  which  swept  over  her.  As  the 
sound  of  Morris's  grating  voice  broke  the  accus- 
tomed quiet  of  the  room,  the  Italian  awoke  from 
his  reverie,  and  directed  an  annoyed  look  at  the 
speaker.  The  students  glanced  curiously  in  his 
direction.  Jessie's  lip  trembled  and  two  crimson 
spots  burned  on  her  cheeks,  but  she  spoke  calmly. 

'You  have  surprised  me,  Mr.  Morris,"  she 
said  quietly,  ignoring  his  proffered  hand.  "You 
146 


A      FOREIGN      MISSION 

must  be  aware  that  this  is  not  a  public  reception- 
room.  We  can  talk  without  disturbing  any  one  in 
the  lobby." 

A  minute  later  they  were  in  the  comparatively 
deserted  outer  hall. 

"  My  carriage  is  at  the  door  and  at  your  ser- 
vice," said  Morris  effusively  as  Jessie  paused  near 
the  entrance.  "  Really,  Miss  Garden,  you  cannot 
imagine  how  delighted  I  am  to  meet  you." 

"  You  have  no  right  to  follow  me  here  or  to 
annoy  me  by  your  attentions,"  said  Jessie  Garden, 
confronting  him  with  flashing  eyes.  The  smug, 
complacent  smile  died  on  his  lips.  He  fumbled 
nervously  at  his  watch  charm. 

"It  was  purely  accidental,  I  assure  you,"  he 
stammered.  "  I  was  strolling  around  and  was  as 
much  surprised  to  see  you  as  you  were  to  see  me." 

"  Your  arrival  was  announced  in  the  Berlin 
papers,"  said  Jessie  coldly.  "  I  learned  this  morn- 
ing that  you  bribed  my  servants,  and  realized  that 
an  interview  with  you  was  inevitable,  but  I  did  not 
think  you  would  presume  to  intrude  your  presence 
during  my  study  hours.  You  take  an  unfair  advan- 
tage of  an.  accidental  acquaintance.  That  acquaint- 
ance was  terminated  last  summer  by  your  acts  and 
conduct,  and  I  have  no  desire  to  renew  it.  You 
have  had  the  education  and  opportunities  of  a  gen- 
tleman and  must  respect  my  wishes." 

She  turned  and  entered  the  gallery.  Morris 
stood  as  if  riveted  to  the  floor — dazed,  ashen-faced 

>47 


JOHN  BURT 

and  speechless.  Obeying  a  wild  impulse  he  rushed 
after  her,  but  halted  at  the  door.  With  a  smothered 
oath  he  retraced  his  steps,  and  hailing  his  coachman 
drove  through  Unter  der  Linden.  The  matchless 
beauties  of  this  famous  boulevard,  with  its  giant 
trees  and  enclosing  palaces  had  no  charms  for  him. 

For  the  second  time  in  his  life  the  fact  had  been 
forced  upon  him  that  there  were  ambitions  beyond 
the  reach  of  his  money.  The  thought  envenomed 
him.  Again  he  made  a  vow  that  Jessie  Garden 
should  be  his.  His  admiration  for  her  was  en- 
hanced by  her  resistance.  Never  had  she  looked 
more  beautiful  than  on  that  afternoon  when  she 
spurned  his  addresses.  Here  was  a  spirited  subject 
for  bit,  whip  and  spur — his  bit,  his  whip  and  his 
spur.  His  heavy  lips  parted  in  a  sullen  smile  as  he 
pictured  Jessie  Garden's  surrender.  The  longer  it 
was  delayed  the  sweeter  would  be  his  triumph. 

The  morning  train  for  Paris  had  Arthur  Mor- 
ris for  a  passenger.  There  he  found  congenial 
friends,  and  plunging  into  the  saturnalian  current  of 
the  gay  metropolis  found  respite  from  his  sorrows 
and  solace  for  his  defeats. 

J  -;  It  was  months  before  he  returned  to  New  York 
to  become  a  junior  partner  in  the  firm  of  Randolph 
Morris  &  Company. 


CHAPTER        TWENTY-THREE 

DIPLOMAC  Y 

AFTER  an  absence  of  two  years  Jessie  Garden 
looked  forward  with  pleasure  to  a  home- 
coming. Her  studies  in  Berlin  were  ended, 
and  Professor  Reidesel  departed  from  his  estab- 
lished rule  and  openly  praised  her  work.  Charmed 
by  her  beauty,  the  famous  Steinbech  craved  and 
obtained  permission  to  paint  her  portrait,  which  he 
presented  to  her  on  behalf  of  her  tutors  and  fellow- 
students.  General  Garden  was  a  proud  and  happy 
father  when  he  received  the  portrait,  and  gave  it 
the  place  of  honor  in  his  drawing-room. 

Jessie  had  bidden  her  instructors  and  friends 
adieu,  and  was  about  leaving  Berlin  for  a  brief  visit 
to  Paris,  when  she  received  a  cablegram  from  Gen- 
eral Garden,  requesting  her  to  return  home  at  once. 
The  message  was  so  worded  that  Jessie  was  mysti- 
fied, but  not  alarmed. 

After  a  stormy  voyage,  the  liner  steamed  into 
Boston  harbor,  and  General  Garden  clasped  his 
daughter  in  his  arms.  At  first  glance  she  hardly 
recognized  him.  His  face  was  drawn,  and  the  dark 
hair  and  beard  had  turned  to  silver-gray.  The 
color  left  Jessie's  face  as  she  looked  into  his. 

"You  will  be  brave,  my  pet,"  he  said,  his  voice 
choked  with  emotion.  "  I  have  sad  news  for  you, 
Jessie." 

"  There  can  be  no  very  sad  news,  papa  dear,  so 
long  as  you  are  alive,"  said  Jessie.  With  a  woman's 

249 


JOHN  BURT 

intuition  she  guessed  the  truth.     Like  a  flash  the 
interview  in  the  old  grape  arbor  came  back  to  her. 

"lam  ruined,  Jessie!  My  bank  has  failed, 
and  my  fortune  is  swept  away.  That  is  not  all. 
Our  old  home  is  in  the  hands  of  creditors  and  I  am 
a  bankrupt — a  bankrupt  at  the  age  of  fifty." 

Jessie  smiled  bravely  through  her  tears. 

"I  am  distressed  on  your  account,  papa  dear, 
but  you  must  not  worry  in  the  least  over  me.  I 
have  money,  papa ;  lots  and  lots  of  money.  I  have 
saved  nearly  two  thousand  dollars  out  of  my  allow- 
ance. We  shall  get  along  famously.  I  can  more 
than  earn  my  own  living,  and  I  shall  see  that  you 
grow  young  again  and  regain  all  that  you  have 
lost." 

That  evening,  in  the  modest  apartments  he  had 
rented,  General  Garden  told  Jessie  the  story  of  his 
downfall.  The  unexpected  depreciation  of  a  certain 
stock,  coupled  with  heavy  demands  on  his  bank, 
had  forced  him  to  the  wall.  Randolph  Morris  was 
his  principal  creditor,  and  negotiations  were  then 
in  progress  by  which  he  hoped  to  transfer  his  L.  & 
O.  stock  to  Mr.  Morris,  in  consideration  of  a  loan 
which  would  enable  him  to  settle  with  his  minor 
creditors. 

"  If  Mr.  Morris  refuses  to  extend  this  accom- 
modation I  shall   be  in  lasting  disgrace,"  faltered 
General  Garden.     "  Your  Aunt  Helen  and  her  hus^ 
band,  Thomas  Bishop,  have  large  sums  depositelr 
with  me.     Many   of  my   personal  friends  and  old 


DIPLOMACY 

army  comrades  have  trusted  me  with  every  dollar 
they  possessed.  If  Mr.  Morris  consents  to  make 
this  loan  I  can  meet  these  obligations,  face  the 
world,  and  begin  the  fight  anew.  Arthur  Morris  is 
now  a  member  of  the  firm,  and  the  matter  has  been 
placed  in  his  hands.  I  regret  this  exceedingly. 
Arthur  seems  to  have  conceived  a  dislike  for  me, 
and,  while  he  has  not  rejected  my  proposition,  he 
treats  me  coldly.  We  will  talk  no  more  of  it, 
Jessie,  my  pet.  Let  us  hope  for  the  best.  I  never 
thought,  my  little  girl,  that  a  time  would  come 
when  you  would  have  to  worry  over  my  financial 
affairs." 

Jessie  Garden  had  listened  quietly.  Until  that 
day  she  had  given  little  thought  to  the  problem 
which  ever  confronts  the  great  mass  of  mankind — 
how  shall  we  live,  wherewithal  shall  we  be  fed, 
clothed  and  housed  ?  She  knew,  or  at  least  thought 
she  knew,  what  poverty  meant — for  others — but  it 
never  had  occurred  to  her  that  a  day  could  come 
when  the  springs  of  affluence  would  run  dry. 

She  looked  at  her  father's  pale  and  anxious 
face,  and  saw  him  run  his  hand  nervously  through 
his  whitened  locks.  The  little  room  in  which  they 
sat  looked  mean  and  want-haunted.  The  faded 
carpet,  the  cheap  wallpaper,  the  tawdry  decora- 
tions, the  low  and  marred  ceiling,  the  wailing  of  a 
sick  child  through  the  thin  partition,  the  odor  of  a 
kitchen,  the  rumble  of  traffic  over  a  cobblestone 
pavement — surely  this  was  a  dream  from  which  she 

251 


JOHN  BURT 

would  awaken  to  find  herself  in  the  stately  mansion 
on  the  great  boulevard. 

The  dear*old  home  was  as  vivid  to  her  as  on 
the  day  she  left  for  Europe.  She  could  see  her 
room  looking  out  on  the  Charles  River;  the  climb- 
ing ivy  softly  seeking  an  entrance — the  green  lawns 
with  their  fountains,  the  gentle  voices  of  the  old 
servants  who  loved  and  petted  her,  the  great  brown 
eyes  of  the  horses,  as  they  lifted  their  heads  when 
she  entered  their  stables,  the  quaint  homestead  with 
its  hallowed  recollections  of  three  generations,  the 
fashionable  calm  of  an  exclusive  neighborhood — 
surely  these  had  not  gone  from  her  forever. 

Yet  it  was  not  a  dream.  At  the  sound  of  the 
name  of  Arthur  Morris  the  past  and  the  present 
stood  before  her  in  glaring  colors.  She  must  be 
brave;  she  would  be  brave.  She  realized  that  she 
was  no  longer  a  girl ;  she  was  a  woman,  and  would 
play  a  woman's  part.  But  how  ?  She  thought  of 
Morris  and  shuddered. 

With  that  superb  insight  which  nature  gives  to 
woman,  the  plot  devised  by  Arthur  Morris  lay  bare 
before  her  eyes.  Her  father  was  enmeshed  in  the 
net  which  had  been  set  for  her.  To  release  him 
must  she  be  caught  in  the  toils  ? 

The  gentle  doe  at  bay  will  fight.  The  most 
docile  of  God's  creatures  arouses  at  times  to  resist 
the  hand  of  cruelty.  The  dormant  faculties  of 
defence  which  are  planted  in  every  woman's  heart, 
spring  on  guard  when  the  gentler  traits  are  trampled 


DIPLOMACY 

under  foot,  and  when  those  she  loves  are  threatened 
with  defeat  or  suffering. 

The  Bishops  had  purchased  a  residence  in  New 
York,  and  there  was  waiting  for  Jessie  a  letter  from 
her  aunt  inviting  her  to  spend  April  and  May  with 
them  in  the  metropolis,  and  to  be  their  guest  in 
Hingham  during  the  summer. 

"  Your  uncle  Thomas  and  myself  will  be  de- 
lighted if  you  make  our  home  yours  until  General 
Garden  has  settled  his  affairs,"  wrote  her  aunt.  "I 
have  asked  your  father  and  he  gladly  gives  his  con- 
sent, though  I  know  it  to  be  a  sacrifice  for  him. 
You  will  like  New  York  and  will  thoroughly  enjoy 
yourself." 

General  Garden  advised  her  to  accept  the 
invitation,  but  Jessie  had  at  first  declared  that  her 
place  was  with  him,  and  would  not  listen  to  his 
arguments. 

"I  have  changed  my  mind  about  aunt  Helen's 
invitation,"  she  said,  later  in  the  evening.  "You 
must  not  think  me  undutiful,  papa,  but  I  have 
decided  to  go  to  New  York  for  a  few  weeks  at 
least.  I  believe  I  can  sell  some  of  my  sketches 
and  paintings  there,  and — and — well,  I  think  it  best 
to  go." 

"You  are  a  wise  little  girl,  Jessie,"  said  Gen- 
eral Garden.  "  I  shall  be  in  New  York  nearly  as 
much  as  in  Boston,  and  you  will  be  much  happier 
there." 

A  week  later  Jessie  was  fondly  greeted  by  her 


JOHN  BURT 

aunt.  Her  charming  cousin,  Edith  Hancock,  was 
also  a  visitor  in  the  Madison  Avenue  mansion. 
Thomas  Bishop  belonged  to  an  old  New  York 
Ifamily,  and  was  proud  to  introduce  his  beautiful 
'nieces  to  the  exclusive  society  circles  in  which  the 
Bishops  had  been  welcomed.  He  would  not  listen 
to  Jessie's  plan  of  selling  her  pictures,  and  in  the 
maze  of  receptions,  balls  and  theatre  parties,  which 
followed  her  arrival,  Jessie  postponed  that  doubt- 
ful project. 

It  was  at  the  Cregier  reception  that  she  again 
met  Arthur  Morris.  Not  until  the  hostess  had 
pronounced  Jessie's  name  in  presenting  Morris  did 
that  dazed  young  millionaire  fully  recognize  her. 
He  had  thought  her  interesting  in  Hingham,  and 
fascinating  in  Berlin — even  though  gowned  in  the 
quiet  habit  of  a  student — but  not  until  that  night 
was  the  matchless  beauty  of  Jessie  Garden  set  in  a 
frame  which  did  it  justice.  Her  ball  gown  was  of 
soft,  white  silk,  and  around  her  neck  were  the  famous 
Hancock  pearls,  once  worn  by  her  mother,  and  by 
her  grandmother  before  her. 

The  mass  of  dark  brown  hair  lay  in  glossy 
folds  above  the  perfect  brow.  The  dark  eyes 
glowed  with  that  beauty  which  comes  from  a  cul- 
tured mind.  The  clinging  fabric  of  her  gown  re- 
vealed the  slender,  graceful  and  rounded  outlines 
of  virile  youth — no  longer  the  broken  curves  of 
spring,  but  the  rare  symmetry  of  nascent  summer. 

For  a  moment  Morris  was  unable  to  speak, 
*S4 


DIPLOMACY 

and  gazed  blankly,  first  at  Jessie  and  then  at  Mrs. 
Cregier. 

"  Really — why,  really — why — why,  don't  you 
know,  Mrs.  Cregier,  Miss  Garden  and  I  have  met 
before !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  In  fact — why,  in  fact  we 
are  old  acquaintances;  are  we  not,  Miss  Garden?" 

"  I  recall  having  met  Mr.  Morris,"  said  Jessie, 
addressing  her  hostess.  Her  voice  and  manner  in- 
dicated polite  lack  of  interest. 

"  I  am  always  making  the  stupid  blunder  of 
introducing  old  friends,"  laughed  the  busy  and 
preoccupied  Mrs.  Cregier.  At  that  moment  her 
daughter  announced  arriving  guests,  and  smilingly 
excusing  herself,  Mrs.  Cregier  turned  to  greet  the 
new  comers. 

It  was  a  trying  moment  for  Jessie  Garden.  Be- 
fore her  stood  the  man  she  hated.  Why  had  fate 
cast  him  as  a  reptile  ever  crawling  across  her  path? 
She  longed  to  crush  the  serpent's  head  with  her 
tiny  heel,  yet  she  knew  that  the  snake  had  cunning ; 
she  knew  that  her  father  was  caught  in  his  coils. 
Never  until  that  moment  did  she  realize  the  damn- 
ing power  of  money,  or  sound  the  depths  of  a 
woman's  hatred. 

To  spurn  Arthur  Morris,  to  satisfy  her  pride, 
and  to  feed  her  revenge  were  the  desires  which 
flamed  in  her  mind,  burned  on  her  cheeks  and  trem- 
bled on  her  lips.  In  that  moment  it  required  all  of 
her  self-possession  to  restrain  this  impulse.  But 
the  careworn  face  of  her  father,  and  the  thought  of 

*ss 


JOHN  BURT 

his  humbled  pride,  came  back  to  her.  She  would 
fight  his  battles  with  a  woman's  weapons.  For  his 
dear  sake,  she  would  act  a  distasteful  part. 

"  May  I  say  something  to  you,  Miss  Garden?" 
ventured  Morris.  "  I've  wished  to  talk  to  you  for 
a  long  time,  or  rather  to  write  something,  but — 
but — let's  get  out  of  this  crush  so  I  can  explain 
myself." 

"I  do  not  care  to  listen  to  you,  sir." 

"  I  beg  of  you,  hear  me  for  a  moment !  "  pleaded 
Morris,  as  Jessie  turned  haughtily  from  him. 

"  Since  you  seem  determined  to  create  a  scene 
in  which  I  am  to  be  involved,  I  prefer  the  less 
conspicuous  disgrace  of  listening  to  you,"  she  said, 
bitterly.  "  Here  is  a  quiet  corner.  What  have  you 
to  say  to  me,  sir?" 

"I  want  to  apologize  for  what  I  did  in  Berlin, 
or  rather  for  coming  to  Berlin,"  he  began.  "I 
know  I  had  no  right,  after  you  returned  my  letter, 
to  intrude  the  way  I  did,  but  I  wished  to  see  you 
awfully,  Miss  Garden,  and  was  ass  enough  to  think 
that — well,  to  think  that  you  wouldn't  care.  I  was 
wrong,  and  I  beg  your  pardon." 

"That  is  not  the  offence  for  which  you  should 
crave  forgiveness,"  said  Jessie  Garden.  Scorn  was 
in  her  voice  and  a  warning  flash  in  her  eyes.  "  Your 
intrusion  in  Berlin  was  insolent,  but  it  was  in  har- 
mony with  a  greater  affront  which  preceded  it,  and 
one  of  which  no  gentleman  would  be  guilty.  If  it 
has  passed  out  of  your  recollection,  I  shall  not  recall 
256 


DIPLOMACY 

it.  If  you  have  nothing  more  appropriate  to  say, 
leave  me,  sir ! " 

"I  have;  I  have!"  cried  Morris,  cowering 
before  her  gaze.  "  Pray  be  seated,  Miss  Garden, 
and — and  give  me  a  chance  I  " 

"I  should  not,"  she  said  coldly. 

"I  know  the  time  you  mean,  Miss  Garden." 
His  face  flushed  a  deeper  red  and  he  looked  at  her 
with  appealing  eyes.  "You  mean  that  affair  at  the 
clambake.  I  was  intoxicated,  Miss  Garden.  It's 
a  hard  word,  but  I'm  going  to  be  honest  and  throw 
myself  on  your  mercy.  I  drank  too  much  wine,  and 
I  don't  know  what  I  said  or  did  after  I  came  ashore 
from  the  Voltaire.  But  I  couldn't  have  said  any- 
thing against  you,  because,  don't  you  know — well, 
because  I  thought  too  much  of  you.  I  wanted  to 
explain  this  in  Berlin,  but  you  wouldn't  let  me.  If 
you'll  forgive  me  now,  Miss  Garden,  I  promise  you 
that  I  will  never  be  in  that  condition  again.  If  we 
were  alone  I  would  get  on  my  knees  and  ask  your 
pardon,  but  I  can't  do  it  here,  don't  you  know.  I 
am  very,  very  sorry ;  really  I  am,  Miss  Garden,  and 
I  want  to  be  your — your  friend." 

She  longed  to  spurn  his  prayers  and  to  ask  him 
to  take  back  the  white  locks  from  above  her  father's 
brow  and  remove  the  stain  of  his  disgrace.  She 
longed  to  demand  of  him  the  return  from  exile  of 
the  man  who  had  resented  his  insults;  who  had 
risked  his  life  and  imperiled  his  future  in  her 
defense.  She  realized  that  the  man  who  had  crushed 

*57 


JOHN  BURT 

her  father  was  now  in  her  power,  and  felt  that 
triumphant  joy  which  only  a  woman  can  know.  But 
it  wounded  and  tortured  her  pride  to  think  that 
Morris  dared  aspire  to  her  love.  She  charged  the 
sacrifice  she  was  about  to  make  against  the  account 
of  a  future  revenge,  and  turned  to  him  with  a  softer 
light  in  her  eyes. 

"I  should  not  forgive  you,"  she  said.  "When 
a  man  who  pretends  to  your  position  so  far  forgets 
himself,  he  should  first  obtain  his  own  pardon.  He 
should  then  seek  to  redress  the  wrongs  caused  by 
his  offense.  Are  you  prepared  to  do  that,  Mr. 
Morris?" 

"I  don't  exactly  understand  what  you  mean, 
Miss  Garden." 

"I  will  make  myself  plain,"  said  Jessie.  "You 
attempted  to  murder  a  young  man  who  resented 
your  insults  in  a  public  place,  and  in  the  encounter 
you  were  injured.  For  years  you  have  had  a  stand- 
ing reward  for  the  arrest  of  this  innocent  man. 
Believing  that  you  were  dead,  or  having  good  reason 
to  fear  the  power  of  your  money  and  influence,  and 
preferring  not  to  blight  his  career  on  account  of  it, 
he  has  remained  in  exile,  with  an  unjust  charge 
hanging  over  him.  Are  you  willing  to  take  steps  to 
absolve  him?  John  Burt  has  been  the  greater  vic- 
tim of  your  conduct." 

"But  my  dear  Miss  Garden,  I  haven't  the 
slightest  notion  of  where  he  is,  don't  you  know," 
said  Morris  with  a  puzzled  expression.  "  Ton  my 


DIPL        OMACY 

word,  I  don't.  We  had  a  beastly  row  in  which  I 
"got  shot,  and  all  the  fellows  who  were  with  me  say  I 
started  it,  and  that  the  pistol  went  off  in  my  own 
hand.  I  assure  you  that  I  don't  remember  a  thing 
about  it.  The  governor  offered  the  reward.  I  can 
get  him  to  withdraw  it,  and  put  a  notice  in  the 
papers  promising  that  no  prosecution  shall  be  made. 
I  haven't  anything  against  that  chap  Burt,  'pon  my 
word  I  haven't.  He  was  out  of  our  class,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing,  don't  you  know,  Miss  Garden. 
He  might  be  a  very  decent  sort  of  a  fellow,  after 
all,  and  it's  thoughtful  of  you  to  remind  me  of  this. 
I'll  do  anything  you  say,  Miss  Garden." 

"  Publicly  announce  the  withdrawal  of  the  re- 
ward and  state  that  he  will  not  be  prosecuted,"  said 
Jessie,  as  if  the  matter  was  merely  one  of  abstract 
justice.  "  It  seems  to  have  been  decreed  that  we 
shall  be  thrown  into  one  another's  society,  and  if 
you  are  confident  that  I  shall  not  again  be  embar- 
rassed by  your  indiscretions  I  will  try  to  overlook 
the  past." 

"You  are  very  good  1"  he  exclaimed,  effusively. 
"  It's  more  than  I  deserve,  but  you  will  not  regret  it, 
Miss  Garden.  My  governor  and  yours  are  mixed 
up  in  business,  and  it's  a  beastly  shame,  don't  you 
know,  that  we  should  be  at  odds.  By  the  way,  I'm 
awfully  sorry  about  the  general's  financial  troubles. 
Hope  he  pulls  out  of  them  all  right,  and  think  he 
will.  I'm  trying  now  to  make  a  deal  which  will 
help  him  out.  And  you're  not  angry  with  me  now, 


JOHN  BURT 

are  you,  Miss  Garden?      Let's    shake    hands    and 
call  it  square?" 

Morris  extended  a  clammy  hand,  and  Jessie, 
with  an  inward  shudder,  permitted  him  to  clasp, 
her's  for  a  moment.  Her  cousin,  "Bert"  Han- 
cock, approached  and  claimed  her  for  a  dance. 

For  weeks  Morris  contrived  to  be  present  at 
most  of  the  social  functions  attended  by  Jessie 
Garden.  He  apparently  so  far  reinstated  himself 
in  her  favor  as  to  be  permitted  to  call  at  the  Bishop 
residence.  His  habits  during  this  period  were  be- 
yond reproach,  and  his  friend  Kingsley  asserted 
that  he  was  growing  good-looking. 

"You  must  be  in  love,  commodore,"  he  de- 
clared. "  It's  either  love  or  lithia — perhaps  both. 
By  Jove,  you're  looking  fine,  old  man!  Think  I'll 
quit  myself." 

Morris  grinned  his  pleasure  and  revelled  in  the 
soft  impeachment. 

The  summer  season  was  at  hand,  and  Jessie 
was  looking  forward  with  pleasure  to  a  sojourn  in 
Hingham.  Arthur  Morris  had  been  devoted  in  his 
attentions,  and  Jessie  felt  a  thrilling  wickedness  at 
the  tacit  encouragement  she  had  given  him.  He 
was  her  escort  to  theatres  and  receptions.  She  had 
permitted  him  to  monopolize  her  company.  Edith 
Hancock  returned  to  New  York,  and  Jessie  made 
of  her  a  confidant. 

"  I  never  dreamed  I  could  be  so  deceitful,"  she 
admitted  to  Edith,  who  had  bluntly  asked  if  she 

*6o 


DIPLOMACY 

were  engaged  to  Morris.  "  I  feel  so  wicked  that  I 
hardly  dare  look  papa  in  the  face.  You  know  papa 
really  thinks  I  like  Arthur  Morris,  and  it  almost 
breaks  my  heart  to  know  he  is  willing  I  should 
marry  him.  It's  horrible,  Edith,  horrible  !  " 

The  expression  of  contrition  died  out  and  the 
dark  eyes  flashed  defiantly. 

"  I  suppose  I  should  imitate  the  timid  maiden 
of  fiction  and  submit  to  the  scheming  of  a  monied 
villain,  until  rescued  by  some  adventitious  hero," 
declared  Jessie,  bitterly.  "  But  it  is  in  no  sense 
likely  that  a  hero  will  come  to  my  relief.  I  shall 
hot  wait  for  one,  and  must  wage  my  own  bat- 
tles. It  is  modern  and  accordingly  drearily  unro- 
mantic.  Mr.  Morris  is  holding  his  wealth  as  a 
weapon  over  papa's  head,  and  in  their  commercial 
transactions  I  am  rated  as  having  a  certain  collateral 
value.  I  am  to  fold  my  hands,  close  my  eyes  and 
tacitly  assent  to  the  terms  agreed  upon.  Papa  has 
debts,  Mr.  Morris  has  money,  and  I  am  alleged  to 
have  beauty.  I  hate  money.  I  hate  Arthur  Mor- 
ris, and  I  intend  to  punish  him  for  his  insolence. 
He  has  deceived  and  swindled  us,  he  holds  posses- 
sion of  our  home,  has  smirched  our  good  name,  and 
now  I  am  to  be  thrown  in  to  make  full  the  measure 
of  his  profit.  And  he  really  thinks  I  should  be  de- 
lighted with  the  bargain!  This  is  my  romance, 
Edith,  but  I  do  not  intend  it  shall  be  a  tragedy. 
You  are  the  one  person  in  the  world  to  whom  I 
can  tell  my  troubles  or  come  for  sympathy." 

261 


JOHN  BURT 

Edith  kissed  away  the  two  mad  little  tears  which 
glistened  in  Jessie's  eyes. 

That  evening  Arthur  Morris  called  on  Jessie. 
Of  her  favorable  answer  to  his  suit  he  had  not  the 
slightest  doubt.  He  had  carefully  rehearsed  his 
avowal.  After  critically  reviewing  his  campaign 
since  quitting  Paris  he  decided  that  he  had  made  no 
mistakes. 

"  It  has  worked  out  like  the  moves  on  a  chess- 
board, and  I  have  captured  this  queen,"  he  mused 
triumphantly  on  his  way  to  the  Bishop  residence. 
"  She  wouldn't  listen  to  me  as  long  as  old  Garden 
had  money,  and  the  governor  took  that  away  from 
him.  That  crippled  her  fight.  Money's  the  thing ! 
Love  is  all  right  in  its  place,  but  money  pays  the 
bills.  I  own  the  fastest  horse  on  the  track,  the 
swiftest  yacht  on  the  Hudson,  and  now  I  am  to  have 
the  prettiest  bride  in  New  York.  She's  a  bit  high- 
spirited  just  now,  but  she  will  wear  well.  By  Jove, 
I'm  almost  in  love !  "  And  to  the  extent  of  his  sel- 
fish, material  nature,  he  was. 

He  made  his  declaration  confidently,  but  with 
more  of  feeling  than  Jessie  thought  him  capable. 
For  one  moment  she  thought  to  end  a  scene  which 
was  distasteful,  by  a  positive  refusal  of  his  suit.  But 
only  for  an  instant  did  she  hesitate  to  assume  the 
part  upon  which  she  had  determined. 

"  Mr.  Morris,"  she  said  with  an  earnestness 
which  almost  tricked  herself,  "  I  owe  a  duty  to  my 
father  which  I  cannot  forego.  He  is  alone  and  in 
262 


DI        PLOMACY 

trouble,  and  I  cannot  leave  him.  You  know  little  of 
the  pride  of  the  Gardens  if  you  imagine  that  the 
daughter  of  General  Marshall  Garden  will  give  her 
hand  in  marriage  so  long  as  the  shadow  of  bank- 
ruptcy hangs  over  his  name." 

"  But,  Jessie,"  interposed  Morris  eagerly,  "  that 
can  all  be  fixed,  don't  you  know.  Your  father  is 
not  really  bankrupt,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  He 
has  assets,  stocks  and  securities  which  will  more  than 
meet  all  claims  against  him.  That  can  all  be  arranged. 
Don't  you  worry  your  pretty  head  about  business 
affairs  but  leave  them  to  the  men." 

"  That  is  what  my  father  says,"  said  Jessie 
demurely,  but  with  a  growing  indignation.  "  Still  I 
know  he  is  in  trouble,  and  I  cannot  think  of  mar- 
riage until  he  no  longer  fears  to  look  any  man  in 
the  face.  I  know  little  of  business  affairs,  but  I  do 
know  that  he  is  in  debt.  He  is  confident  that  he 
will  be  able  to  meet  all  of  his  obligations,  and  talks 
gaily  of  sending  me  to  Paris  to  complete  my  studies, 
but  I  fear  his  hopes  are  unfounded.  Aunt  Helen 
has  offered  to  meet  my  expenses  abroad,  and  it  is 
likely  I  shall  go  to  Paris  in  the  autumn.  Beyond 
that  I  do  not  see  my  way  clear,  only — I  cannot  marry 
now." 

Morris  again  assured  Jessie  of  his  absolute 
confidence  in  General  Garden's  financial  future, 
and  attempted  to  secure  some  conditional  promise 
from  her. 

"I  am  willing   to   wait,  don't  you  know,"  he 


JOHN  BURT 

said.  "  I'm  sure  General  Garden  will  come  out  all 
right.  Go  abroad  if  you  like,  but  promise  to 
marry  me  when  you  return."  He  gazed  longingly 
at  her. 

"No.  I  will  promise  not  to  marry  within  the 
next  two  years.  Will  that  satisfy  you?" 

Morris  left  Jessie's  presence  wild  with  delight 
over  his  fancied  success. 

A  few  days  later  General  Garden  arrived  from 
Boston,  and  held  several  conferences  with  Arthur 
Morris.  One  night  he  greeted  Jessie  with  unusual 
tenderness.  The  old  proud  light  was  in  his  eyes. 
His  shoulders  were  thrown  back  and  his  step  was 
elastic. 

"  I  am  no  longer  a  bankrupt,  Jessie,  my  dar- 
ling," he  said,  when  they  were  alone.  "  I  have  so 
disposed  of  my  securities  to  Mr.  Morris  that  I 
am  able  to  pay  all  of  my  debts  and  have  enough  re- 
maining to  send  you  abroad,  my  pet.  And  Mr. 
Morris  has  given  me  a  position  in  his  bank,  with  a 
chance  to  work  into  a  partnership." 

"Oh,  that's  splendid  !  "  exclaimed  Jessie.  "Are 
you  sure  you  will  not  be  disappointed  ?  Is  it  all 
arranged  beyond  any  doubt?" 

"Here  is  the  check,"  said  General  Garden, 
with  some  surprise.  "Why  do  you  ask,  Jessie?" 

Because  I  wish  to  go  to  Paris  as  soon  as 
possible,"  was  the  answer.  "I  am  just  crazy  to 
take  up  my  painting  and  music.  And  now  I  can 
go,  can't  I,  papa?" 


DIPLOMACY 

"  But  I  thought  you  intended  to  spend  the 
summer  in  Hingham.  Mr.  Morris  goes  there 
next  month." 

"Aunt  Helen,  Edith  and  uncle  Tom  are  going 
day  after  to-morrow,"  said  Jessie,  after  a  moment's 
reflection.  "  I  would  like  to  spend  a  week  or  two 
in  Hingham  with  them,  and  then  sail  for  Paris  from 
Boston.  I  will  be  an  old  woman  before  I  finish 
my  studies,  unless  I  make  haste.  Besides,  it's  lovely 
in  Paris  in  summer.  I  can  go,  can't  I,  papa?" 

"  Certainly,  my  pet." 

Arthur  Morris  called  that  evening,  and  vainly 
attempted  to  persuade  her  to  spend  the  summer  in 
Hingham,  and  postpone  her  trip  abroad  until 
autumn.  He  seemed  much  disappointed  when  Jes- 
sie positively  refused  to  modify  her  plans.  Morris 
felt  an  added  sense  of  proprietorship  in  Jessie,  but 
this  he  had  not  the  tact  to  conceal. 

"  I  told  you  that  General  Garden  would  come 
out  all  right,"  he  said,  with  a  meaning  smile.  "  Our 
bank  was  willing  to  extend  the  accommodation." 

"  Papa  has  told  me  none  of  the  details,  and,  if 
he  had,  I  wouldn't  have  understood  them,"  said 
Jessie.  "  I  thought  it  was  a  regular  business  trans- 
action. You  don't  mean  to  say  that  my  father — 
General  Garden — is  the  recipient  of  a  favor — an 
unfair  accommodation  at  any  banker's  hands?" 

"  Not  at  all ;  not  at  all,"  stammered  Morris, 
lowering  his  eyes  before  her  searching  gaze.  "  The 
affair  was  strictly  a  business  one.  I  only  wish  to 


JOHN  BURT 

point  out  that  everything  has  turned  out  just  as  I 
predicted.  The  securities  were  in  such  shape  that 
our  bank  could  handle  them — and  we  handled 
them.  That's  all." 

Morris  asked  permission  to  write,  and  Jessie 
granted  it,  but  warned  him  that  she  was  going  to 
Paris  to  work — not  to  write  letters. 

He  bade  her  an  effusive  farewell,  and  Jessie 
gave  a  happy  sigh  of  relief  when  the  train  rolled 
out  from  the  station. 


CHAPTER     TWENTY-FOUR 

TWO          STRANGE          INTERVIEWS 

IT  was  delightful  to  be  again  in  the  old-fashioned 
country  house  overlooking  the  ocean.  Jessie 

confessed  to  Edith  Hancock  that  her  anxiety 
to  return  to  Paris  was  assumed. 

"I  would  be  perfectly  happy  in  this  dear  old 
place  all  summer — were  it  not  for  one  discord,"  she 
said  to  Edith  as  they  galloped  along  the  beach  the 
first  evening  after  their  arrival  in  Hingham.  "  Yon- 
der is  a  suggestion  of  what  is  driving  me  to  a  for- 
eign land." 

Jessie  pointed  with  her  riding-whip  at  the  red- 
tiled  roof  of  the  Morris  mansion,  seen  several  miles 
away  through  a  cleft  in  the  hills. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  are  flying  from  Arthur 
Morris?"  Edith's  dark  eyes  opened  wide. 

"  I  do.  I  prefer  the  society  of  strangers  abroad 
rather  than  to  tolerate  his  occasional  presence  here,'* 
answered  Jessie,  biting  her  lip  in  vexation. 

"That's  a  strange  way  to  speak  of  one's  be- 
trothed," observed  Edith,  with  an  arch  look  at  her 
cousin. 

"You  should  not  say  that,  Edith!  Do  not 
make  me  angry  by  so  absurd  an  insinuation.  You 
know  very  well  you  have  no  cause  to  say  such  a 
thing." 

"  But  Mr.  Morris  thinks  so,  cousin  dear,"  per- 
sisted Edith.  "  He  as  much  as  told  me  that  you 
were  engaged  to  him,  and  asked  me  to  congratulate 


JOHN  BURT 

him.  That  impossible  Kingsley  told  me  the  same 
thing,  and  had  the  impudence  to  suggest  that  it  was 
a  rare  chance  for  a  double  wedding.  You  must 
have  flirted  outrageously  with  Mr.  Morris.  I 
really  feel  sorry  for  him,  Jessie.  Most  girls  would 
esteem  him  a  splendid  catch." 

"Please  do  not  tease  me,  Edith,"  pleaded  Jes- 
sie, tears  brimming  her  eyes.  "  It  is  bad  enough  as 
it  is,  without  making  it  worse,  and  then — then  twit- 
ting me  about  it — you,  dear  cousin,  the  only  one  in 
all  the  world  to  whom  I  can  tell  my  troubles.  I 
have  not  deceived  Mr.  Morris;  if  he  imagines  such 
a  ridiculous  thing  he  has  deceived  himself.  In  his 
overweening  conceit  he  has  assumed  a  prerogative 
which  shall  never  be  his ;  never,  Edith,  never,  never, 
never! " 

"  I'm  delighted  to  hear  you  say  so,"  declared 
Edith,  with  a  mischievous  laugh.  "  The  only  rea- 
son I  had  for  teasing  you  was  to  make  you  tell 
me  the  truth.  You  have  not  said  a  word  to  me  for 
weeks  about  Arthur  Morris,  but  I  know  you  are  not 
a  flirt,  Jessie." 

"  I  shall  never  flirt  with  Mr.  Morris,"  asserted 
Jessie,  a  smile  chasing  away  the  tears  and  bringing 
the  dimples  to  her  cheeks.  "  There's  a  great  differ- 
ence between  a  financial  campaign  and  a  flirtation. 
I  am  a  commercial  diplomat,  Edith.  So  is  Mr. 
Morris.  So  is  papa — a  very  unfortunate  one,  re- 
cently. I  have  been  taking  part  in  a  triangular 
engagement,  and  have  secured  a  temporary  advan- 


TWO     STRANGE     INTERVIEWS 

tage.  The  spoils  of  my  victory  have  been  turned 
over  to  papa,  who  does  not  know  that  I  have  been 
his  ally.  The  most  remarkable  thing  about  the  out- 
come is  that  Mr.  Morris  imagines  he  has  won ;  papa 
is  certain  that  he  has  achieved  a  notable  triumph, 
and  I  am  so  satisfied  with  the  result  that  I'm  going 
abroad  for  two  years  to  rest  on  my  laurels." 

"What  under  the  sun  are  you  talking  about?" 
asked  Edith. 

"  I  could  never  explain  it  to  you,"  laughed  Jes- 
sie. "  It's  all  about  stocks  and  bonds,  and  bulls  and 
bears,  and  shorts  and  longs,  and  margins  and  equi- 
ties, and  lots  of  other  things  which  you  could  not 
understand  without  weeks  of  study.  But  I've  not 
been  flirting,  Edith;  I've  been — what  is  it  they  call 
it — '  plunging  in  Wall  Street.'  " 

"  That's  worse  than  flirting,  and  not  half  so 
much  fun,"  declared  Edith. 

"But  I've  reformed,"  said  Jessie,  gaily.  "Let's 
turn  up  this  road  and  take  the  old  turnpike  back 
of  the  house." 

They  cantered  in  silence  until  they  came  to  the 
old  bridge  where  Jessie  first  met  John  Burt.  There 
she  reined  in  her  bay. 

"We'll  let  the  horses  rest  here  a  moment,"  she 
said.  "  I  always  liked  this  spot.  Isn't  the  view 
charming  across  the  level  of  the  marsh  to  the  rocks 
and  the  dark  fringe  of  pines  beyond?" 

"It's  much  better  at  the  top  of  the  hill,"  in- 
sisted Edith,  and  wondered  what  Jessie  could  find 

269 


JOHN  BURT 

to  admire  in  the  prosaic  surroundings.  "  Come  on, 
Jessie,"  and  she  touched  her  roan  with  the  whip. 

Jessie  remained  behind.  Back  through  the 
swiftly-flying  years  her  fancy  wandered  to  the* 
summer  day  when,  under  the  tuition  of  a  sturdy 
farmer  lad,  she  fished  for  crabs  over  the  side  of  the 
bridge.  She  noted  that  an  ornamental  iron  rail  had 
been  substituted  for  the  great  oaken  timbers,  and 
resented  the  improvement.  But  the  creek  was  un- 
changed, and  the  tide  swirled  in  eddies,  which 
brought  back  the  hour  when  her  cap  fell  into  the 
water,  to  be  rescued  by  the  dog  "  Prince,"  at  John 
Burt's  command. 

A  few  rods  away  the  road  turned  to  the  old 
Burt  farmhouse,  and  she  could  almost  imagine  that 
John  was  again  by  her  side,  as  in  those  happy  sum- 
mer days  when  it  was  heaven  to  live — those  long, 
blissful  days  ere  love  came  to  temper  joy  with 
sorrow. 

Did  John  Burt  yet  live?  Did  she  yet  hold  the 
place  in  his  heart  she  occupied  on  that  night,  when, 
under  the  old  maples,  she  rested  against  his  breast 
and  bade  him  a  sad  farewell?  Would  he  return? 
When?  The  little  brook,  flowing  towards  the 
ocean  on  the  outgoing  tide,  seemed  the  sole  con- 
necting link  between  the  past  and  the  future. 

The  clatter  of  hoofs  aroused  Jessie  from  her 
reverie.  She  looked  up  to  see  Edith  coming  towards 
her. 

"What  attraction  has  that  muddy  old  creek?" 


TWO     STRANGE    INTERVIEWS 

demanded  Edith.  "  Come  on,  Jessie ;  uncle  Tom 
has  sounded  the  horn  for  dinner." 

On  the  morrow  Edith  and  Mrs.  Bishop  went 
to  Boston  on  a  shopping  expedition,  but  they  could 
not  persuade  Jessie  to  accompany  them.  In  the 
afternoon  she  ordered  her  horse  saddled,  and,  de- 
clining an  escort,  soon  disappeared  in  a  turn  of  the 
road.  Half  an  hour  later  she  stopped  in  front  of 
Peter  Burt's  farmhouse. 

She  had  not  dismounted  when  the  great  oaken 
door  swung  back  and  Peter  Burt  came  towards  her. 
There  was  a  kindly  gleam  in  his  eye  as,  with  a 
courtly  air,  he  bowed  and  greeted  her. 

"  It  is  thoughtful  of  you  to  remember  me,  my 
child,"  he  said,  as  he  gave  her  his  hand  and  helped 
her  to  dismount.  u  Jasper,  take  care  of  Miss  Car- 
den's  horse !  We  will  sit  in  the  shade  of  the  trees; 
it  is  cool  and  pleasant  here." 

He  left  her  for  a  moment  and  returned  with 
chairs.  Mrs.  Jasper  followed  with  glasses  and  a 
pitcher  of  delicious  cold  cider. 

"It  is  very  refreshing,"  said  Jessie,  who  had 
regained  her  courage.  "Are  you  not  lonesome 
here,  Mr.  Burt?" 

"  I  am  never  lonesome  so  long  as  I  can  com- 
mune with  the  Creator  of  all  good  things,"  said 
Peter  Burt.  "  How  is  your  father,  my  child?" 

"  He  is  very  well,"  answered  Jessie.  "  Since  you 
saw  him  he  has  had  financial  trouble,  but  his  affairs 
are  in  better  shape  now.  He  lives  in  New  York." 


JOHN  BURT 

The  old  man  made  no  reply  and  an  interval  of 
silence  followed.  She  felt  that  his  eyes  were  upon 
her,  not  unkindly,  but  searching,  friendly  and  mag- 
netic. Almost  unconsciously  she  addressed  him: 

"  Have  you  received  any  word  or  heard  anything 
from  John,  Mr.  Burt?" 

She  thought  afterwards  that  the  question  was 
bold,  but  it  did  not  seem  so  at  the  time. 

"  You  are  the  only  one  in  the  world  who  has  a 
right  to  ask  me  that  question,  or  to  whom  I  would 
return  an  answer,"  he  replied.  He  paused  for  a 
moment  as  if  to  weigh  his  words. 

"  I  have  heard  from  him,"  he  said  deliberately. 
c<  He  is  alive  and  well." 

"Alive  and  well!  "  she  exclaimed,  her  eyes  glis- 
tening with  excitement. 

"  He  is  alive  and  well,"  repeated  Peter  Burt. 
This  strange  interview  took  place  more  than  two 
years  before  James  Blake  returned  from  California, 
and  as  has  been  narrated  inadvertently  gave  to  Peter 
Burt  his  first  verbal  information  concerning  John 
Burt. 

"Listen  to  me,  my  child,"  said  Peter  Burt,  im- 
pressively, "  and  have  faith  in  every  word  I  say  to 
you.  Do  not  feel  disappointed  when  I  tell  you  that 
I  have  received  no  letter  from  him,  and  no  facts  con- 
cerning him  from  any  human  being.  Yet  I  say  to 
you  that  I  know  he  is  alive  and  well,  and  blessed 
beyond  most  men  with  the  favors  which  God  be- 
queaths to  those  for  whom  the  prayers  and  interces- 
272 


TWO     STRANGE    INTERVIEWS 

sions  of  his  servants  ascend.  John  is  in  a  far-off 
land,  and  there  he  shall  remain  until  the  time 
ordained  for  his  return.  Seek  not  to  call  him  away 
from  fields  not  yet  harvested.  I  am  four-score  and 
more  years  old,  yet  shall  I  live  long  after  his  return, 
and  he  and  his  shall  be  the  joy  of  my  closing  days. 
Youth  is  impatient,  but  it  is  powerless  to  check 
God's  plans.  Do  you  believe  what  I  have  told  you, 
my  child?" 

"  I  do,"  answered  Jessie  Garden,  and  her  voice 
and  the  confident  look  in  her  eyes  added  emphasis 
to  her  declaration. 

Peter  Burt  abruptly  changed  the  subject,  nor 
•did  he  return  to  it.  He  questioned  Jessie  about  her 
studies  and  listened  as  she  told  him  of  her  two  years 
spent  abroad.  To  her  surprise  he  was  conversant 
on  modern  art  and  literature,  and  discussed  the 
various  conflicting  and  converging  schools  with  an 
exact  knowledge  which  astounded  her.  He  threw 
off  his  austere  manner  as  a  traveler  sheds  his  cloak 
under  the  warming  rays  of  the  sun.  His  conversa- 
tion was  not  without  a  quaint  wit,  and  for  the  time 
Jessie  was  oblivious  to  the  void  of  years  which 
separated  them.  He  spoke  with  the  direct  positive 
enthusiasm  which  made  John  Burt  so  delightful  a 
companion.  9 

For  nearly  three  hours  they  talked  on  various 
topics,  and  never  once  did  Peter  Burt  lead  the  con- 
versation in  a  direction  not  entertaining  to  his  fair 
young  visitor.  Not  until  the  great  rock  to  the  west 

*71 


JOHN  BURT 

of  the  house  threw  its  long  shadow  over  them  did 
Jessie  look  at  her  watch.  With  an  exclamation  of 
surprise  she  arose  to  go. 

"You  have  made  this  afternoon  a  very  happy 
one  for  me,  my  child,"  he  said,  as  he  lifted  her  to 
the  saddle.  He  bowed  his  gray  head  and  raised  his 
powerful  arms. 

"May  God  bless  and  keep  you,  my  daughter." 

Jessie  rode  home  in  the  fading  sunlight,  a  great 
joy  in  her  heart.  "He  is  alive  and  well!"  she  re- 
peated, time  and  time  again.  Edith  met  her  as  she 
entered  the  gateway,  and  noted  the  rapt  look  on 
her  face,  but  little  did  she  divine  the  reason. 

A  week  later  Jessie  sailed  for  France.  It  was 
nearly  two  years  before  she  completed  her  studies, 
and  again  entered  Boston  harbor.  Several  weeks 
before  her  return  to  New  York,  Arthur  Morris  had 
acquainted  James  Blake  with  the  "secret  of  his  en- 
gagement," as  has  been  related. 

Thus  after  many  years,  the  several  figures  in 
this  strange  drama  had  been  drawn,  as  by  magnets, 
within  the  confines  of  the  great  metropolis,  whose 
ever-moving  shuttles  weave  so  many  mysteries. 


CHAPTER      TWENTY-FIVE 

GENERAL         GARDEN         IS        PUZZLED 

FERE  are  the  papers,  papa  dear.  And  here 
LjL  are  cigars  and  matches.  I  found  your 
glasses  on  the  writing-desk.  You  are  care- 
less as  ever,  papa  dear.  Isn't  it  nice  to  have  some 
one  who  knows  just  what  you  wish  and  where  to 
find  it?" 

"It  is,  Jessie,  my  pet!"  And  General  Garden 
placed  his  arm  around  his  daughter's  waist,  drew  her 
fair  face  down  to  his  and  kissed  her  fondly. 

"  I  shall  not  let  you  read  all  the  evening,  papa, 
because  I  have  so  many  things  to  tell  you,"  said 
Jessie,  smoothing  back  the  scant  gray  locks.  "Now 
I  will  agree  to  be  quiet  as  a  mouse  for  an  hour  and 
let  you  read,  and  then  you  must  talk  to  me — or 
rather,  let  me  talk  to  you."  And  Jessie  Garden 
opened  a  book  and  drew  a  chair  near  her  father's 
side. 

"  Let  me  look  over  the  market  reports  and  read 
the  editorial  on  the  President's  special  message," 
said  General  Garden,  and  a  moment  later  he  was 
deep  in  the  statistical  mysteries  known  only  to  those 
whose  fortunes  are  centered  in  Wall  Street. 

They  were  in  the  cozy  drawing-room  of  Mr. 
Bishop's  New  York  residence.  Thomas  Bishop 
was  born  in  New  York  City,  and  spent  his  early 
manhood  in  that  metropolis.  His  father  willed  to 
him  the  old  farm  near  Hingham,  and  when  he  won 
the  hand  of  Helen  Garden— the  only  sister  to  Mar- 

»75 


JOHN  HURT 

shall  Garden — he  took  his  bride  to  the  old  country 
mansion  and  passed  the  honeymoon  beneath  its 
broad  gables  and  amid  the  typical  New  England 
surroundings.  He  held  fast  to  his  New  York  real 
estate,  and  managed  his  farm  with  a  skill  not  sur- 
passed by  his  neighbors.  As  a  consequence  he 
waxed  rich  not  only  in  Massachusetts  but  in  New 
York. 

Obeying  an  instinct  which  has  all  the  effect  of 
a  natural  law,  Thomas  Bishop  had  drifted  back  to 
his  birthplace,  retaining  the  old  Hingham  mansion 
as  a  summer  residence.  The  age  of  sixty  found  him 
hale  and  hearty,  the  owner  of  a  brownstone  residence 
in  Madison  Avenue,  New  York  City,  and  delighted 
to  share  its  comforts  with  Marshall  Garden  and  his 
daughter.  In  deference  to  the  general's  pride  the 
Bishop's  accepted  a  nominal  stipend  for  the  accom- 
modations furnished.  No  wreck  cast  against  the 
rocks  of  speculation  ever  stranded  on  a  shore  more 
pleasant  or  in  waters  more  quiet. 

"  It  is  remarkable  how  easily  a  new  concern  can 
establish  itself  in  Wall  Street,"  said  General  Garden, 
laying  aside  his  paper  and  slowly  wiping  his  glasses. 
Jessie  raised  her  eyes  with  dutiful  interest.  "It was 
not  so  in  the  old  conservative  days.  It  then  took 
years  to  establish  standing  and  credit.  Now  an 
unknown  man  can  come  out  from  the  West  and  have 
the  Street  by  the  ears  in  thirty  days.  For  example, 
take  this  man  Blake,  who  has  established  the  firm  of 
Blake  &  Company.  He  suddenly  appeared  here 
276 


GENERAL    GARDEN    IS    PUZZLED 

from  San  Francisco  and  conducted  a  campaign  which 
swept  two  old  established  houses  off  their  feet. 
His  profits  were  estimated  at  millions.  Since  then 
we  have  heard  of  nothing  but  the  doings  of  James 
Blake.  You  cannot  pick  up  a  paper  without  being 
compelled  to  read  of  what  James  Blake  has  done, 
what  James  Blake  is  about  to  do,  what  James  Blake's 
opinion  is  on  this  question  or  on  the  other.  Here 
is  an  article."  continued  General  Garden,  picking  up 
a  paper,  "which  gives  an  account  of  a  conference 
between  this  upstart  and  the  Secretary  of  the  Treas- 
ury of  the  United  States.  They  say  Blake  is  only 
twenty-seven  years  old.  Jessie,  my  dear,  it  is  a  great 
thing  to  be  born  fortunate.  You  were  not  wise, 
darling,  in  your  selection  of  a  father."  General 
Garden  smiled  sadly. 

"  I've  the  best  and  dearest  father  in  the  world  1" 
exclaimed  Jessie,  placing  her  hand  in  his.  "  But  I'm 
not  going  to  let  him  read  the  papers  any  more  this 
evening.  Let's  forget  all  about  the  old  stocks  and 
the  wonderful  Mr.  Blake,  and  talk  of  those  we 
know.  Papa,  dear,  I  wish  to  ask  you  a  question." 

"What  is  it,  my  pet?  They  say  that  children 
must  not  ask  questions." 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  the  color  mounting  to 
her  cheeks.  She  had  returned  from  Europe  the  day 
before  and  this  was  her  first  evening  with  her  father. 

"  Has  anything  been  heard  of  John  Burt?  I— 
I  thought  perhaps  Mr.  Morris  would  know  as  soon 
as  any  one." 


JOHN  BURT 

General  Garden's  lips  tightened.  He  pulled 
nervously  at  his  beard,  and  the  military  moustache 
bristled  aggressively. 

"  Answer  me,  papa !  I  have  a  right  to  know 
this." 

There  was  a  flash  in  the  tender  eyes  and  a  warn- 
ing  curve  in  the  pretty  lips.  The  crimson  left  her 
cheek  and  she  looked  frankly  into  her  father's  face. 
There  is  in  innocence  the  bravery  of  truth  and  the 
calm  modesty  of  virtue.  General  Garden  was  dis- 
armed. 

"  Nothing  has  been  heard  from  Mr.  Burt  so 
far  as  I  can  learn,  Jessie,"  he  said.  "  Possibly  his 
grandfather  may  have  news.  I  am  reasonably  sure 
Mr.  Morris  has  none.  Let  us  talk  of  something 
else,  Jessie." 

The  door  opened  and  Mrs.  Bishop  entered. 

"  Here  is  your  evening  mail,  Marshall,"  she 
said,  handing  her  brother  a  number  of  letters. 
"  And  here  is  a  letter  for  you,  Jessie." 

Jessie  opened  and  read  a  note  from  Arthur 
Morris.  It  congratulated  her  on  a  safe  return  from 
abroad,  and  closed  by  asking  permission  to  call  on 
the  first  evening  which  would  suit  her  convenience. 
The  letter  lay  idly  in  her  hand,  and  her  thoughts 
were  far  away  when  the  General  uttered  an  excla- 
mation. 

"  A  most  astounding  coincidence  I  Really,  this 
is  quite  remarkable  !  " 

"What  has  happened,  papa?" 
278 


GENERAL    GARDEN    IS    PUZZLED 

"You  remember  that  I  was  speaking  of  the 
striking  success  of  a  western  man,  named  Blake? 
Well,  here  is  a  letter  from  him !  This  is  what  he 
writes."  And  General  Garden  read,  with  evident 
pride,  the  following  letter : 

JAMES    BLAKE    &    COMPANY 
WALL    STREET 

New  York,  June  2. 
Dear  Sir : — 

I  am  informed  that  you  hold  an  equity 
in  ten  thousand  shares  of  the  L.  &  O.  Rail- 
road Company.  I  have  customers  who 
are  interested  in  this  property,  and  repre- 
sent them  in  negotiations  now  pending. 
It  is  possible  your  interests  may  be  con- 
served by  conferring  with  me  on  this  mat- 
ter. I  shall  be  pleased  to  meet  you  at 
your  earliest  convenience.  To  a  gentle- 
man of  your  experience  an  injunction  to 
secrecy  is  unnecessary. 

Awaiting  the  pleasure  of  a  conference  in 
my  office,  and  trusting  that  it  may  result 
to  our  mutual  advantage,  I  remain, 
Very  truly,  yours, 

JAMES  BLAKE, 
President,  James  Blake  &  Company. 

To  General  Marshall  Garden, 
.  —  Madison  avenue, 
New  York  City. 


JOHN  BURT 

"That  is  odd,  isn't  it?"  said  Jessie.  The 
general's  face  glowed  with  pleasure.  "  Do  you  own 
ten  thousand  shares  of  stock  in  a  railroad,  papa?" 

"  I  own  an  equity  in  that  amount  of  stock  in  an 
alleged  railroad,"  he  said,  with  a  grim  smile.  "  They 
didn't  teach  you  about  '  equities '  when  you  was 
abroad,  did  they,  little  girl?  An  equity  is  some- 
thing you  think  you  own,  and  hope  you  will  realize 
on,  but  do  not  expect  to.  It  is  generally  the  pos- 
sible salvage  from  a  mortgage.  Do  not  bother  your 
head  about  it,  pet.  From  whom  is  your  letter?" 

"  From  Mr.  Morris.  He  wishes  to  call  some 
evening  this  week." 

"  Ah,  um — m."  The  general  cleared  his  throat 
and  appeared  to  be  concerned  only  indirectly. 
"Let's  see;  this  is  Friday;  Edith  is  coming  to- 
morrow. Suppose  you  invite  Mr.  Morris  to  take 
dinner  with  us  Wednesday  evening.  Edith  will  be 
here  and  we  will  have  a  little  party  of  four  for  a 
rubber  of  whist.  Is  that  agreeable  to  you,  pet?" 

"If  it  suits  you,  papa," was  the  quiet  response. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say  about  it,  Jessie." 

"I  have  no  engagement  for  Wednesday  even- 
ing," said  Jessie,  carelessly,  "  I  will  write  and  ask 
him  to  call  at  that  time." 

"I  have  not  told  you  of  the  change  in  Mr. 
Morris's  affairs,"  said  General  Garden,  with  some 
eagerness,  "  nor  have  I  mentioned  my  good  fortune 
in  consequence  of  that  change.  Randolph  Morris 
has  retired,  and  transferred  the  bulk  of  his  vast 
280 


GENERAL   GARDEN    IS    PUZZLED 

property  to  Arthur,  who  has  greatly  changed  in  the 
last  eighteen  months.  The  responsibilities  of  his 
new  position  have  obliterated  that  fickleness  which 
was  his  youthful  fault.  Arthur  Morris  is  one  of 
our  future  generals  of  finance.  He  is  a  recognized 
power  in  Wall  Street,  and  a  factor  in  local  politics 
and  enterprises."  He  paused,  and  regarded  his 
daughter  intently. 

"And  your  good  fortune  is  what, papa?"  asked 
Jessie,  without  lifting  her  eyes. 

"  A  much  more  important  position  has  been 
awarded  to  me,  with  a  corresponding  increase  in 
emolument,"  replied  General  Garden  with  more  of 
dignity  than  of  pride.  Jessie  well  knew  that  no 
salary  or  position  in  the  gift  of  Arthur  Morris 
could  compensate  the  lost  freedom  of  an  indepen- 
dent fortune.  She  threw  her  arms  around  her 
father's  neck  and  spoke  tender  words  of  congratu- 
lation. 

"We  will  talk  no  more  of  money  and  other 
gloomy  things,"  she  declared  with  a  laugh  which 
brought  the  roses  to  her  cheeks.  "  I  am  going  to 
play  for  you." 

"Listen  to  this,  papal"  She  ran  her  fingers 
over  the  keys  of  the  piano.  The  liquid  notes 
swelled  into  the  intoxicating  melody  of  a  gypsy 
dance  and  quivered  with  the  trilling  of  birds  among 
the  trees.  Then  followed  the  pulsing  rhythm  of  a 
martial  march  which  fired  the  blood  of  the  old  sol- 
dier and  kindled  the  war  light  in  his  eyes.  For 

281 


JOHN  HURT 

half  an  hour  Jessie  played.  Then  she  began  a 
spirited  recital  of  her  experiences  abroad.  She 
mimicked  the  staid  old  German  professors  and  imi- 
tated the  mincing  French  dancing-masters,  and  the 
general  laughed  until  the  tears  coursed  down  his 
cheeks. 

General  Garden  made  an  early  appointment 
with  James  Blake,  and  was  promptly  admitted  to  the 
private  office  of  the  famous  operator. 

"If  you  have  no  objection,  general,"  said  James 
Blake,  after  the  usual  commonplace  remarks  which 
preface  business  transactions,  "explain  the  exact 
status  of  this  block  of  L.  &  O.  stock." 

"  There  is  no  secret  about  it,"  replied  the  for- 
mer banker.  "A  number  of  years  ago  I  became 
convinced  that  the  L.  &  O.  railroad  had  a  brilliant 
future.  In  .my  opinion  it  occupied  a  strategic  posi- 
tion. I  purchased  fifteen  thousand  shares  on  specu- 
lation. After  a  small  rise  the  stock  began  to  de- 
cline and  I  sold  five  thousand  shares  at  a  slight  loss. 
Then  the  panic  swept  the  country.  Not  dreaming 
that  my  bank  would  be  involved,  I  decided  to  pro- 
tect my  L.  &  O.  stock  and  accordingly  bought  it 
in  at  fifty,  paying  the  sum  of  $500,000  in  cash. 
Then  the  crash  came  and  my  bank  went  under  with 
others.  Randolph  Morris  was  my  principal  creditor. 
To  meet  his  claims  I  sacrificed  my  Boston  residence 
and  all  of  my  personal  property.  In  the  meantime 
L.  &  O.  had  severely  declined.  After  several  con- 
ferences, Mr.  Arthur  Morris  consented,  as  a  per- 
282 


GENERAL    GARDEN    IS    PUZZLED 

sonal  favor,  to  lend  me  two  hundred  thousand  dol- 
lars on  the  stock.  It  was  therefore  hypothecated  to 
him  for  this  amount.  This  was  about  two  years  ago. 
Interest  and  other  charges  have  since  accumulated 
until  Mr.  Morris  has  now  a  claim  of  $248,000 
against  the  stock.  It  was  quoted  to-day  at  27.  At 
this  figure,  assuming  that  so  large  a  block  could  be 
liquidated,  my  equity  amounts  to  less  than  $22,000. 
The  money  advanced  by  Mr.  Morris  was  sufficient 
to  meet  all  claims  against  me,  and  I  was  honorably 
discharged  from  bankruptcy."  General  Garden 
drew  himself  up  proudly. 

"At  what  price  does  Mr.  Morris  propose  to 
sacrifice  the  stock?"  asked  Blake. 

"  At  twenty-six.  He  has  a  purchaser  who  will 
take  it  at  that  figure,  though  I  have  an  option  on  it 
at  the  same  price  under  our  contract.  I  have  no 
such  sum  of  money,  nor  one-tenth  of  it.  I  have 
long  since  abandoned  hope  of  realizing  anything 
from  my  original  investment  of  half  a  million." 

James  Blake  made  a  rapid  calculation  on  a 
writing  pad. 

"  I  have  a  proposition  to  make  you,  General 
Garden,"  he  said.  "  I  will  advance  you  the  money 
to  exercise  your  option,  on  the  condition  that  you 
do  so  when  it  drops  to  26.  You  will  deposit  the 
stock  with  me  and  place  it  in  a  pool  to  be  handled 
at  my  discretion.  As  an  evidence  of  my  good  faith 
I  now  offer  you  35  for  your  stock — eight  points 
more  than  the  market  price.  After  meeting  the 


JOHN  BURT 

Morris  claim  this  will  leave  you  a  balance  of  $100,000. 
I  advise  you  to  reject  this  latter  offer,  General  Car- 
den,  and  to  accept  my  first  proposition  to  take  up 
the  stock  when  it  drops  to  26,  pool  it  with  me  and 
rely  on  my  judgment  that  it  will  rise  to  a  point  which 
will  net  you  more  substantial  profits." 

General  Garden  looked  into  the  handsome  face 
of  the  young  man  who  calmly  made  this  proposition. 
Of  his  sincerity  he  had  no  doubt,  but  the  tempta- 
tion to  grasp  the  competence  dangling  before  his 
eyes  was  almost  irresistible.  The  weight  of  years 
and  the  blows  struck  by  untoward  fortune  had 
weakened  his  spirit  and  all  but  shattered  his  confi- 
dence. For  some  moments  he  was  silent,  but  the 
old  hopes  awoke  and  the  courage  of  youth  came 
back. 

"  I  will  follow  your  advice,  Mr.  Blake,"  he 
said,  firmly.  "  My  one  ambition  is  to  insure  the 
happiness  of  my  daughter.  Perhaps  I  have  no  right 
to  again  risk  money  now  within  my  reach,  which 
rightfully  belongs  to  her,  but  I  will  make  one  more 
attempt  to  regain  a  hard-earned  fortune.  I  shall 
not  ask  you  to  explain  your  remarkable  offer,  in 
which  you  practically  tender  to  me  a  gift  of  one 
hundred  thousand  dollars.  We  are  strangers,  and 
I  certainly  have  no  claim  on  your  liberality.  You 
must  be  sure  of  your  ground,  and  I  am  content  to 
rely  on  your  judgment.  I  therefore  accept  your 
original  offer,  Mr.  Blake,  and  will  sign  an  agree- 
ment to  that  effect." 
284 


GENERAL    GARDEN    IS    PUZZLED 

Blake  called  a  legal  subordinate  and,  in  General 
Garden's  presence,  dictated  the  terms  of  the  con- 
tract, duplicate  copies  of  which  were  signed  and 
witnessed.  A  clerk  entered  with  a  slip  of  paper. 
Blake  glanced  at  it  and  passed  it  to  General  Garden. 

"  Here  is  a  certified  check  on  our  bank  for 
$250,000,"  he  said.  "When  L.  &  O.  drops  to  26, 
cash  the  check,  make  a  settlement  with  Mr.  Mor- 
ris, and  deposit  the  stock  with  me.  I  take  this  pre- 
caution so  that  there  may  be  no  chance  for  delay, 
and  a  cash  transaction  will  acquaint  no  one  with  the 
principals.  Do  not  have  the  slightest  anxiety  as  to 
the  future  movement  of  the  stock." 

General  Garden  examined  the  check,  folded  it 
and  carefully  placed  it  in  his  wallet. 

"I  should  be  pleased  and  honored,"  said  Gen- 
eral Garden,  as  he  arose  to  go,  "  to  have  you  accept 
the  humble  hospitality  of  my  temporary  home.  For 
obvious  reasons,"  he  continued,  smiling,  "it  would 
be  impolitic  for  us  to  dine  in  public  places  while 
this  financial  matter  is  in  progress,  but  within  the 
seclusion  of  my  rooms  I  should  like  to  testify,  in  a 
social  way,  my  appreciation  of  your  generosity." 

"I  accept  with  pleasure,"  replied  Blake.  "I 
have  lived  so  many  years  in  hotels  and  clubs  that 
such  an  invitation  promises  a  genuine  treat." 

"If  you  have  no  other  engagement,  dine  with 
as  on  Thursday  evening." 

"  I  have  none,  and  shall  do  myself  that  pleas- 
ure. Until  then,  adieu,  General  Garden.  Again, 

**s 


JOHN  BURT 

let  me  caution  you  not  to  disturb  yourself  over  the 
movements  of  L.  &.  O.  Good  afternoon,  sir?" 

James  Blake  shook  hands  with  the  general,  and 
turned  and  entered  John  Burt's  private  office. 

"It's  all  right,  John!"  he  exclaimed,  with  the 
enthusiasm  of  a  boy.  "  You  couldn't  have  man- 
aged it  better  yourself.  Garden  hesitated  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  refused  a  bonus  of  a  hundred  thous- 
and, just  as  you  said  he  would.  I  made  a  straight 
out  business  deal  with  him,  and  he  need  never  know 
that  you  had  a  thing  to  do  with  it.  I  have  his  op- 
tion and  a  contract  which  gives  us  absolute  control. 
He's  a  dignified  and  at  times  a  crusty  old  gentle- 
man, but  he  stood  in  proper  awe  of  the  famous  firm 
of  James  Blake  &  Company." 

Blake  laughed  and  then  his  face  grew  thoughtful. 

"  I  wonder,  John,"  he  said,  "  what  he  would 
have  thought  had  he  known  that  a  proper  title  for 
the  firm  would  be  '  John  Burt  &  John  Burt  ? ' 
What  would  he  have  done  had  he  known  that  you 
were  not  fifty  feet  away  when,  as  your  proxy,  I  made 
that  generous  offer?" 

"  Did  General  Garden  say  anything  about  his 
daughter?"  asked  John,  with  anxious  eagerness. 
"  Has  she  returned  from  Europe  ?  " 

"  I  think  the  fair  Jessie  is  in  New  York  at  this 
very  moment,"  said  Blake,  smiling  as  he  noted  the 
flash  of  joy  in  the  other's  eyes.  "  I  did  not  have  a 
good  chance  to  put  the  question  squarely  to  him. 
I'm  not  supposed  to  know  that  he  has  a  daughter, 
286 


GENERAL    GARDEN    IS    PUZZLED 

and  you  cautioned  me  to  be  very  careful  to  say 
nothing  which  might  arouse  his  suspicions.  But  he 
invited  me  to  dine  with  him  at  the  Bishop  residence 
on  Thursday  evening.  Isn't  that  great  luck?  He 
said  to  me:  'If  you  have  no  other  engagement  dine 
with  us  on  Thursday  evening.'  He  would  hardly 
invite  me  to  dine  with  the  Bishops  without  saying 
something  about  it,  and  that  little  word  '  us1  means 
the  charming  Jessie.  Don't  you  think  so,  John?  " 

UI  hope  so.     Of  course  you  accepted,  Jim?" 

"I  should  say  I  did,"  laughed  Blake.  "If 
General  Garden  hadn't  been  so  excited  over  my 
glittering  offer  to  make  him  rich,  he  might  have 
noticed  the  prompt  energy  with  which  I  said  I 
would  come.  How  would  you  like  to  take  my 
place,  John?" 

"  Very  much,  Jim."  There  was  a  wistful,  far- 
away expression  in  the  deep  gray  eyes.  "  I  must 
wait  a  time  yet — not  long,  I  hope." 

"  Never  mind,  old  man,"  said  Blake,  heartily, 
"  I  hope  you  may  live  to  dine  with  her  a  million 
times,  and  that  in  future  years  an  old  chap  named 
Blake  may  occasionally  be  permitted  to  have  a  seat 
at  the  table,  and  that  he  may  be  surrounded  by  a 
new  and  increasing  generation  of  sturdy  young 
John  Burts  and  fair  and  radiant  little  Jessie  Burts." 

"Thank  you,  Jim,"  returned  John  Burt,  his 
expressive  face  aglow  with  pleasure.  "  When  that 
happy  day  comes  you  must  bring  Mrs.  Blake  and 
the  children  with  you." 


CHAPTER          TWENTY-SIX 

BREAKING  OLD  TIES 

ON  the  Thursday  afternoon  following  his  inter- 
view with  General  Garden,  Blake  strolled 
into  his  favorite  club.  Handsome,  dashing 
and  popular,  deemed  the  possessor  of  millions,  with 
a  prestige  such  as  seldom  comes  to  men  of  his  years, 
the  doors  of  exclusive  clubs  opened  to  him — influen- 
tial members  finding  ways  to  circumvent  the  exac- 
tions of  waiting  lists.  Scores  of  new  friends  and 
admirers  were  scattered  through  the  rooms.  He 
was  chatting  with  Kingsley  when  Arthur  Morris 
arrived,  and  at  the  first  opportunity  led  Blake  to  a 
secluded  corner. 

"  Pardon  me,  old  chap,  I  don't  often  talk  busi- 
ness after  hours,"  apologized  Morris  ;  "  beastly  bad 
form  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  don't  you  know,  and 
you  will  excuse  me  for  mentioning  a  little  stock 
matter,  won't  you  ?  " 

"Certainly,  Morris.     What's  up?" 
Morris  looked  cautiously  around  and  dropped 
his  voice  to  a  whisper. 

"  Once  in  a  while  I  get  hold  of  a  good  thing, 
and  I've  got  one  now,"  he  began.  "We  can  help 
each  other  out  now  and  then  by  exchanging  tips, 
don't  you  know!  There's  going  to  be  a  boom  in 
L.  &  O. !  " 

"Yes?     What  makes  you  think  so,  Morris?" 
"  Caw'nt  go   into   explanations,  old  chap,  but 
you  buy  a  little  L.  &  O.     When  it  drops  below  26 
288 


BREAKING        OLD        TIES 

it  will  take  a  jump  of  eight  or  ten  points.  That's 
straight!  The  road's  in  great  shape!  Good  busi- 
ness, good  crops,  and — and  a  coming  meeting  of 
the  stockholders.  Something's  going  to  happen! 
They're  going  to  cut  a  melon.  You're  safe  to  buy 
five  or  ten  thousand  shares.  Take  my  word  for  it, 
old  chap!" 

"Much  obliged  to  you,  Morris."  Blake  took 
out  his  memorandum  book  and  carefully  made  a 
note  of  the  proffered  advice.  "  Nothing  moves  so 
fast  as  the  stock  of  one  of  these  little  roads,  once  it 
gets  started.  I  imagine  you've  got  control  of  the 
stock.  You  needn't  tell  me,  old  man — I'll  do  my 
own  guessing.  We  Yankees  are  great  on  guess- 
ing." 

Morris  looked  at  him  shrewdly,  chuckled, 
slapped  him  on  the  back,  and  arm  in  arm  they  saun- 
tered down  the  room. 

"  Don't  buy  until  it  drops  below  26,"  he  warned 
Blake  as  they  parted. 

"All  right;  I'll  watch  it.  Thousand  times 
obliged  to  you." 

Blake  ordered  his  coachman  to  drive  to  the 
Bishop  residence.  He  lay  back  on  the  cushioned 
seat  and  laughed  softly. 

"  Wall  Street  is  the  only  place  in  the  world  where 
a  truthful  man  can  get  a  deserved  reputation  as  a 
liar,"  he  soliloquized.  "  Morris  would  save  many  a 
dollar  by  following  his  own  advice.  What  a  scoun- 
drel he  is !  To  think  that  such  a  hound  is  engaged 


JOHN  BURT 

to  Jessie  Garden  1  I  fear  Miss  Garden  is  too  fond 
of  money.  Well,  money's  a  good  thing,  but  if  I 
were  a  woman  I  wouldn't  marry  Morris  if  he  had  a 
billion.  And  John's  got  enough  to  buy  and  sell 
him." 

The  carriage  drew  up  at  the  Bishop  residence. 
General  Garden  greeted  Blake  in  the  drawing-room. 
It  was  restful  to  contemplate  this  abode,  to  breathe 
the  air  of  domestic  luxury,  and  to  contrast  it  with 
the  frigid  elegance  of  the  bachelor  apartments  where 
his  recent  years  had  been  spent.  While  chatting 
with  his  host,  Blake  found  himself  wondering  if  a 
day  would  come  when  the  magic  of  a  woman's  hand 
and  the  inspiration  of  a  woman's  love  would  create 
for  him  a  place  worthy  the  name  of  home. 

In  an  opposite  corner  of  the  room  he  noticed 
a  portrait  of  Marshall  Garden  in  the  uniform  of  a 
United  States  general.  When  it  was  drawn,  the 
beard  and  moustache  had  not  been  touched  by  the 
gray  of  years.  Blake's  eyes  wandered  along  the 
walls  until  they  rested  on  another  portrait — that  of 
Jessie  Garden.  At  first  he  would  have  sworn  it  was 
the  canvas  he  had  seen  in  the  apartments  of  Arthur 
Morris,  but  the  one  before  him  was  mounted  in  a 
heavy  gold  leaf  frame,  while  its  duplicate  was  sur- 
rounded by  an  oaken  border  ornamented  with  silver 
filigree.  He  paused  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence, 
his  eyes  riveted  on  the  canvas,  and  his  mind  dazed 
at  the  thought  that  this  portrait  had  confronted  him 
three  times — first  in  John  Burt's  study  room,  then 


With  old  school  dignity  Genera]  Garden  presented  James  Blake. 


BREAKING        OLD        TIES 

in  Arthur  Morris's  library,  and  now  the  same  pro- 
file, pose  and  figure  adorned  the  walls  of  the  Bishop 
residence. 

"  A  portrait  of  my  daughter  Jessie — one  of 
Steinbach's  best  productions,"  exclaimed  General 
Garden,  with  fatherly  pride,  mistaking  Blake's 
amazement  for  polite  admiration.  "  She  returned 
from  abroad  only  a  few  days  ago.  You  can  get  a 
better  light  from  this  point,"  he  continued,  rising 
and  conducting  his  guest  to  a  spot  where  the  work 
of  the  artist  showed  to  advantage. 

"  It  was  painted  nearly  three  years  ago,"  added 
General  Garden.  "  Ah,  here  she  comes  now !  " 

As  he  spoke  Blake  heard  the  faint  rustle  of 
silk  and  the  music  of  laughing  voices.  The  por- 
tieres parted,  and  Mrs.  Bishop  entered  with  Jessie 
and  her  cousin,  Edith  Hancock.  With  old-school 
dignity,  General  Garden  presented  James  Blake. 

The  portrait  was  a  libel.  The  genius  of  the 
artist  had  failed  to  transfer  to  canvas  the  radiant 
beauty  of  the  living,  breathing  Jessie  Garden  who 
stood  before  him. 

There  is  born  in  every  man's  brain  the  image 
of  an  ideal  woman ; — the  fair  goddess  to  whom  his 
imagination  pays  devotions;  the  vision  of  a  face 
and  form  floating  beyond  the  reach  of  extended 
arms;  the  elusive  phantom  of  the  soul's  desire — 
ever  present  yet  ever  distant— the  ignis  fatuus  of 
fancy  hovering  above  the  swamps  of  realism.  James 
Blake's  ideal  was  dethroned  the  moment  he  looked 

291 


JOHN  BURT 

into  Jessie  Garden's  eyes  and  felt  the  mysterious 
thrill  of  her  presence. 

To  her  cordial  greeting  he  stammered  a  reply, 
and  felt  relieved  when  General  Garden  engaged 
him  in  conversation  on  a  topic  of  political  interest. 
Mrs.  Bishop  pleaded  a  theatre  engagement  and  ex- 
cused herself. 

After  a  delightful  hour  spent  over  dinner,  dur- 
ing which  Blake  was  in  lively  humor,  the  young 
ladies  left  the  general  and  his  guest  to  the  enjoy- 
ment of  cigars.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  Blake 
would  willingly  have  sacrificed  the  soothing  de- 
lights of  the  weed.  General  Garden  discussed 
the  latest  gossip  of  the  stock  market,  Blake  re- 
sponding absent-mindedly  in  monosyllables.  He 
was  glad  when  his  host  gave  the  signal  and  con- 
ducted him  to  the  drawing-room,  where  they  found 
Jessie  and  Edith  awaiting  them. 

Edith  Hancock  was  a  charming  girl,  but  James 
Blake  was  so  enthralled  by  the  rarer  beauty  of  Jessie 
Garden  that  he  denied  the  other  a  fair  tribute  of 
admiration.  The  family  resemblance  was  so  marked 
in  face,  figure  and  carriage  that  neither  brush  nor 
pen  could  limn  the  peculiar  charm  which  distin- 
guished Jessie's  beauty  above  that  of  Edith. 

In  fact,  the  accurate  critic  might  have  con- 
tended for  the  latter.  He  would  have  pointed  out 
that  Jessie's  nose  was  slightly  retrousse — a  depar- 
ture from  the  exact  canons  of  feminine  beauty, 
which  could  not  be  charged  against  Edith  Han- 
292 


BREAKING        OLD        TIES 

cock.  There  were  exquisite  modulations  in  the 
ovals  of  their  faces  and  in  the  archings  of  their 
eyebrows;  curves  delicate  in  their  difference,  yet 
potent  in  creating  that  ensemble  which  makes  for 
the  superlative  in  loveliness.  Edith's  hair  was  a 
shade  lighter  than  the  dark  brown  tresses  of  Jessie 
Garden,  but  her  eyes  were  of  the  same  shade. 

It  is  not  possible  to  explain  why  one  of  two 
diamonds  scintillates  with  greater  brilliancy,  there- 
fore words  are  incapable  of  disclosing  the  secret  of 
the  charm  which  lurks  in  the  eyes  of  a  supremely 
beautiful  woman.  It  is  not  found  only  in  the  physical 
beauty  of  the  eyes,  but  in  the  mirrored  image  of 
that  individuality  which,  for  lack  of  a  better  term, 
we  call  the  soul. 

James  Blake  did  not  attempt  an  analysis  of  the 
beauty  of  the  cousins.  All  his  life  he  had  followed 
the  devious  current  of  his  emotions,  and  been  buf- 
feted by  the  conflicting  winds  of  his  impressions. 
Yet  those  who  knew  and  admired  these  fair  young 
women  could  not  quarrel  with  his  verdict,  nor  state 
it  in  terser  language  when  he  inwardly  said : 

"  Edith  is  beautiful ;  Jessie  is  beauty." 

At  the  general's  request  Jessie  played  several 
of  his  favorite  selections,  Edith  standing  by  her 
side  and  deftly  turning  the  music  pages  for  her. 
They  then  sang  a  duet :  a  German  folk  song.  Jes- 
sie's voice  was  a  pure  contralto— tender,  rich  and 
wonderfully  expressive  in  its  timbre.  Blake  was 
passionately  fond  of  music,  and,  though  he  had 


293 


JOHN  BURT 

been  given  little  opportunity  to  cultivate  his  de- 
cided natural  talents,  was  nevertheless  an  excellent 
singer  and  a  capable  critic. 

"  That  was  grand  !"  he  exclaimed,  his  handsome 
face  aglow  with  admiration  and  the  inspiration  of 
the  music.  "  I  have  never  heard  Wanderer's  Nacht- 
leld  rendered  more  exquisitely.  Please  favor  me 
with  Der  Tannenbaum,  will  you?" 

"Willingly,"  said  Jessie,  as  Edith  smiled  her 
assent.  "  But  Der  Tannenbaum  is  much  more  effec- 
tive with  a  tenor  part.  You  sing,  do  you  not,  Mr. 
Blake?  Something  tells  me  you  do.1' 

"  I'm  sure  Mr.  Blake  sings,"  asserted  Edith. 
"Come,  Mr.  Blake,  the  general  shall  be  our  audi- 
ence!" 

"  I  have  been  charged  with  singing,  but  never 
by  such  fair  accusers,"  laughed  Blake,  stepping  for- 
ward. "  I  trust  the  general  will  not  mete  out  a  pun- 
ishment to  fit  the  crime.  Sing  the  English  transla- 
tion and  I  will  do  my  best  to  carry  a  part." 

Blake  acquitted  himself  famously.  In  San  Fran- 
cisco clubs  and  social  circles  his  clear,  strong  voice 
had  added  to  his  popularity,  but  never  did  he  sing 
so  well  as  on  that  night  standing  by  Jessie  Garden's 
side.  During  the  interludes  he  experienced  a  keen 
pleasure  in  watching  her  tapered  fingers  trip  over 
the  keys.  Never  did  he  forget  his  delight,  when, 
after  the  first  measure  Jessie  looked  up  over  her 
shoulder,  and  paid  him  the  compliment  of  a  smiling 
glance — a  look  of  surprise  and  appreciation.  His 

>94 


BREAKING       OLD        TIES 

thoughts,  at  that  moment,  were  far  removed  from 
John  Burt. 

General  Garden  applauded  vigorously  and  de- 
manded an  encore.  The  trio  sang  several  songs, 
and  the  old  soldier  lay  back  in  his  arm-chair  and  let 
his  mind  drift  back  to  the  hours  when  the  one  of 
whom  Jessie  was  the  image  lifted  her  sweet  voice  in 
the  ballads  he  loved  to  hear.  At  his  request  they 
sang  "  Douglas,  Tender  and  True,"  "  Robin  Adair," 
"The  Blue  Bells  of  Scotland,"  "Annie  Laurie," 
and  several  old  war  songs. 

Then  Jessie  proposed  a  rubber  of  whist,  and  in 
the  cut  she  became  the  partner  of  James  Blake. 
Jessie  played  well  and  they  defeated  the  general  and 
Edith. 

No  matter  how  pretty  a  woman  may  be,  she 
imperils  her  reign  by  displaying  dulness  or  lack  of 
interest  over  a  card  game.  Most  men  play  cards  to 
win — be  the  stakes  money  or  the  mere  flush  of  suc- 
cess— and  though  they  may  smile  at  the  woman 
whose  blundering  dashes  down  their  hopes,  they  do 
it  with  an  ill  grace.  And  Jessie  played  to  win  from 
the  first  lead  until  the  last  trick  was  gathered  in. 

"  You  don't  know  what  a  victory  we  have  won !" 
declared  Jessie,  her  eyes  sparkling  with  pleasure. 
"  Papa  and  Edith  think  themselves  invincible,  and 
this  is  their  first  defeat.  Don't  look  so  disconso- 
late, papa,  we  beat  you  fairly  and  squarely.  Let's 
go  to  the  conservatory.  I  want  to  show  Mr.  Blake 
those  lovely  bulbs  I  sent  you  from  Holland,  and  I 

295 


JOHN  BURT 

know  both  of  you  men  are  famishing  for  a  cigar," 
and  leaving  Edith  and  the  general  to  follow  she 
escorted  Blake  to  the  great  glass  house,  with  its 
arched  roof  and  wilderness  of  palms,  ferns  and 
flowers. 

"I  know  this  is  not  much  of  a  treat  to  you," 
ventured  Jessie.  "I  had  forgotten  that  you  have 
spent  all  of  your  life  in  California,  where  the  loveliest 
flowers  in  the  world  grow  wild.  It  must  be  beauti- 
ful there!" 

"  But  I  have  not  spent  all  of  my  life  in  California," 
Blake  said,  glad  of  the  opportunity  to  bring  up  a 
certain  topic. 

They  had  inspected  the  tulips,  in  which  Jessie 
took  so  much  pride,  and  were  seated  near  a  fountain, 
beneath  the  drooping  branches  of  a  Brazilian  palm. 
The  general  and  Edith  were  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  fountain,  half  obscured  by  its  spray,  which 
seemed  to  blend  with  the  smoke  from  the  old  gen- 
tleman's cigar.  He  was  listening  to  Edith,  but  only 
when  she  laughed  was  her  voice  audible  above  the 
splash  of  the  waters. 

The  night  was  clear  and  warm  and  the  stars 
twinkled  oddly  through  the  glass  dome.  The  air 
was  fragrant  with  the  breath  of  flowers.  Blake's 
cigar  was  of  choicest  Havana.  The  fairest  woman 
he  had  ever  met  was  looking  into  his  face.  He  won- 
dered if  he  had  been  translated  into  Paradise. 

"I  lived  in  California  only  seven  or  eight 
years,"  continued  Blake,  "  and  had  little  chance  to 
296 


BREAKING       OLD        TIES 

study  flowers.  For  nearly  five  years  I  was  in  the 
mountains,  where  an  occasional  violet  was  about  all 
I  saw.  What  little  knowledge  I  have  of  flowers 
dates  back  to  my  boyhood  days  in  New  England." 

"New  England?  I  understood  papa  to  say  you 
belonged  to  that  haughty  clan  known  as  '  The  Na- 
tive Sons  of  California.'  What  part  of  New  Eng- 
land, Mr.  Blake?" 

"  Massachusetts,"  he  answered  proudly.  "  I 
was  born  in  Boston,  less  than  half  a  mile  from 
where  the  tea  was  thrown  overboard.  My  mother's 
name  was  Smith,  so  I'm  a  Yankee  all  over." 

"So  am  I,"  laughed  Jessie.  "John  Hancock 
once  lived  in  the  house  where  I  was  born,  and 
Samuel  Adams  was  there  many,  many  times.  I'm 
as  much  of  a  Hancock  as  Edith,  though  she  won't 
admit  it.  Papa  is  jealous  because  he  does  not  trace 
back  to  any  famous  Americans,  and  says  that  Han- 
cock was  not  much  of  a  banker,  any  way.  He 
claims  that  such  men  as  Mr.  Drexel,  or  Mr.  Pea- 
body,  do  more  business  in  a  week  than  Mr.  Han- 
cock did  in  all  his  career.  To  tease  me  he  talks 
awfully  about  our  great  Boston  patriots.  He  claims 
that  Samuel  Adams  was  the  only  man  who  ever 
failed  in  the  brewing  business.  I  answer  him  that 
it  would  be  a  grand  thing  to-day  if  more  brewers 
failed  and  more  patriots  succeeded.  Don't  you 
like  Boston  better  than  San  Francisco,  Mr.  Blake?  " 

"  Really,  I  remember  very  little  of  Boston,"  re- 
plied Blake.  "When  I  was  a  small  boy  we  moved 

297 


JOHN  BURT 

to  Quincy,  and  from  there  to  a  farm  near  Hingham. 
That  part  of  my  New  England  life  most  vivid  in 
my  memory  clusters  round  the  old  farm  in  Rocky 
Woods — as  the  people  who  lived  there  used  to  call 
it — and  may  yet,  for  all  I  know." 

"  Did  you  live  in  Rocky  Woods?"  The  dark 
eyes  opened  wide  and  Jessie  looked  wonderingly 
into  Blake's  face. 

"  Why,  yes,  I  lived  there  for  several  years.  Do 
you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  ever  heard  of  that 
desolate  patch  of  rocks,  pines,  stone  fences,  huckle- 
berry swamps  and  cranberry  marshes?" 

"  Certainly  I  have.  Uncle  Tom — Mr.  Bishop 
— lived  there  for  a  generation,  and  spends  the  sum- 
mers there  now.  I  have  often  been  there.  You 
must  know  where  the  Bishop  house  stands?" 

"Of  course  I  do!  Well,  I  declare,  is  this  the 
Thomas  Bishop  who  was  the  only  wealthy  farmer 
near  Rocky  Woods?  I've  driven  past  the  house 
thousands  of  times.  It  was  my  boyish  idea  of  a 
magnificent  mansion.  My  folks  were  very  poor  in 
those  days,  Miss  Garden,  and  it's  not  likely  your 
uncle  remembers  the  Blakes,  though  now  that  I  re- 
call it  my  father  worked  for  Mr.  Bishop  two  sea- 
sons during  haying  and  harvesting.  And  I  helped 
him.  I  was  a  lad  of  thirteen  or  fourteen  then. 
You  remember  the  big  meadow  at  the  foot  of  what 
they  called  Pine  Ledge?" 

"Yes." 

"  I  helped  rake  the  hay  into  windrows  and  pile 
298 


BREAKING        OLD       TIES 

it  into  cocks  in  that  meadow.  Once  when  it  threat- 
ened to  rain  your  uncle  came  out  and  helped  us.  I 
killed  a  big  blacksnake  right  near  the  spring,  under 
the  old  willow  tree.  One  day,  when  it  did  rain,  I 
ran  to  the  house,  and  the  hired  girl  asked  me  into 
the  kitchen  and  gave  me  some  doughnuts  and  a 
glass  of  milk." 

"Was  her  name  Susie?"  asked  Jessie  with 
interest. 

"  That  was  her  name  !  "  exclaimed  Blake.  "  She 
was  a  big,  goodnatured  woman,  who  always  had 
her  sleeves  rolled  up  to  her  elbows.  She  had  a 
worthless  husband,  who  lived  in  Weymouth,  and 
who  used  to  come  to  the  farm  and  wheedle  her  out 
of  her  hard-earned  money.  Mr.  Bishop  chased 
him  away  once  with  a  pitchfork." 

"  That  was  before  I  went  there,"  said  Jessie. 
"  Susie's  husband  died  when  I  was  twelve  years  old. 
She  used  to  show  me  his  picture,  and  cry  and  tell 
me  what  a  good  man  he  was.  Isn't  it  strange,  Mr. 
Blake,  that  both  of  us  are  familiar  with  that  out-of- 
the-way  country?  Where  was  your  father's  farm?" 

"  It  was  then  known  as  the  old  Leonard  farm. 
Do  you  know  where  Peter  Burt  lived — Peter  Burt, 
the  old  crazy  man  who  used  to  pray  at  night  from 
the  top  of  the  big  rock?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Jessie  softly,  with  a  little  catch  at 
her  breath  as  the  blood  mounted  to  her  cheeks. 

James  Blake  watched  her  face  intently.  Both 
were  thinking  of  John  Burt,  but  with  what  different 


JOHN  BURT 

emotions  !  Since  the  sun  had  set,  a  gulf  had  opened 
between  John  Burt  and  James  Blake.  How  wide  it 
was  and  how  deep  it  was  Blake  could  not  tell,  but 
he  was  conscious  of  a  void  which  had  come  as  in  a 
dream. 

And  Jessie  Garden?  Intuitively  she  felt  that 
James  Blake  knew  John  Burt.  In  a  flash  it  occurred 
to  her  that  Blake's  business  with  her  father  was  a 
subterfuge.  Was  he  the  bearer  of  tidings  from 
John  Burt?  Perhaps  John  was  dead?  If  alive,  why 
did  he  not  come  himself?  She  waited  breathlessly 
for  Blake  to  continue. 

"If  you  follow  the  road  which  passes  Peter 
Burt's  to  the  east,  and  turn  to  the  right  at  the  first 
crossing,  you  will  come  to  the  farmhouse  where  we 
lived,"  explained  Blake.  "  It  is  about  three-quarters 
of  a  mile  northeast  of  Peter  Burt's." 

"I  know  exactly  where  it  is!"  Jessie's  eyes 
glowed  with  excitement.  "And  you  knew  John 
Burt!  I  remember  now  that  he  often  spoke  of  you. 
He  always  called  you  'Jim,'  and  rarely  mentioned 
your  last  name.  It  was  always  '  Here's  where  Jim 
and  I  did  this  thing,'  or  '  One  time  Jim  shot  three 
squirrels  out  of  this  tree.'  You  two  were  always 
together  when  you  were  boys.  He  told  me  of  the 
first  time  you  met,  and  the  ridiculous  fight  you  had 
on  a  log  when  you  both  fell  in  the  creek.  And  you 
ran  away  from  home.  Did  you  ever  meet  John 
Burt  in  California,  Mr.  Blake?" 

James  Blake  was  not  deceived  by  the  careless 

JOO 


BREAKING        OLD        TIES 

tone  in  which  she  asked  this  question.  He  pos- 
sessed the  cruel  advantage  of  a  gambler  who  knows 
the  hand  of  his  opponent.  With  grim  joy  he 
reflected  that  John's  injunction  for  secrecy  was  still 
in  force.  He  must  either  mislead  Jessie  Garden 
or  prove  false  to  his  friend ;  but  for  the  first  times 
the  deceit  was  his  own  and  not  a  sacrifice  for 
another. 

"Of  course  I  knew  John  Burt,"  said  Blake 
reflectively.  "  Dear  old  John;  I  owe  him  thirty-five 
dollars.  When  I  ran  away  from  home  he  gave  me 
every  dollar  he  had,  and  I've  not  seen  him  since. 
Did  you  say  he  had  gone  to  California?  Is  that  so? 
No,  I  never  saw  him  there,  but  that's  not  strange 
when  one  stops  to  think  that  the  Golden  State  is 
eight  hundred  miles  long  and  two  hundred  and  fifty 
miles  wide.  I  am  going  back  to  Hingham  as  soon 
as  I  get  time,  and  was  intending  to  look  John  up. 
And  you  knew  him?  That,  of  course,  was  after  I 
left  for  the  West.  Really,  Miss  Garden,  I  almost 
feel  as  if  we  were  old  acquaintances.  Ah,  here 
comes  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bishop  !  I  had  no  idea  it  was 
so  late." 

Mr.  Thomas  Bishop  was  introduced,  and  after 
a  brief  conversation,  in  which  Jessie  acquainted  her 
uncle  with  the  fact  that  their  guest  was  formerly 
from  Rocky  Woods,  Blake  excused  himself.  He 
accepted  an  invitation  to  call  again. 

"Then  we  will  continue  our  recollections  of 
Rocky  Woods,  Miss  Garden,"  he  said  on  leaving. 

301 


JOHN  BURT 

"  It  seems  good  to  meet  some  one  who  has  lived  in 
the  old  place,  though  I  confess  I  do  not  look  back 
with  pleasure  to  the  years  I  spent  there.  I  may  go 
to  Hingham  next  week.  I  don't  know  when  I've 
spent  so  enjoyable  an  evening.  Good-night." 

Instructing  his  coachman  to  drive  to  his  apart- 
ments, James  Blake  closed  his  eyes  and  attempted 
to  calmly  review  what  had  happened.  He  found  it 
impossible.  One  emotion  held  mastery  of  him — 
he  was  in  love,  madly  and  defiantly  in  love  with 
Jessie  Garden.  He  thought  of  Arthur  Morris  and 
hated  him.  He  thought  of  John  Burt  and  pitied 
him.  Neither  should  stand  in  his  way. 

Could  she  be  engaged  to  Arthur  Morris? 
Now  that  he  had  met  Jessie  Garden  he  found  him- 
self unconsciously  repeating  John  Burt's  indignant 
declaration:  "It  is  a  lie;  an  infamous  lie!"  If  an 
engagement  did  exist,  it  should  be  as  a  barrier  of 
mist  to  his  ardent  progress.  But  she  did  not,  she 
could  not  love  Arthur  Morris. 

Did  John  Burt  love  her?  Did  she  love  John 
Burt? 

These  were  the  stinging,  burning  questions 
which  seared  his  brain,  but  the  clamor  of  his  con- 
science was  drowned  in  the  louder  din  of  his  pas- 
sion. He  had  not  yet  reached  a  point  where,  with 
calm  selfishness  he  could  voice  the  brutal  aphorism 
of  moral  and  physical  desperados :  "  All  is  fair  in 
love  and  war."  He  was  eager  to  clear  himself  of 
self-accused  disloyalty  to  John  Burt,  and  he  clutched 

lot 


BREAKING        OLD        TIES 

at  any  defence  which  would  serve  as  possible  justi- 
fication or  extenuation. 

John  Burt  was  his  friend,  the  founder  of  his 
fortunes;  the  loyal,  trustful  comrade  to  whom  he 
owed  all  he  was  or  could  hope  to  be.  Blake  knew 
this,  and  yet,  with  the  truth  confronting  him  and 
pleading  for  justice,  the  sophistic  arguments  and 
evasions  of  a  vaulting  passion  came  readily  to  his 
lips. 

"  How  do  I  know  John  loves  her?  "  he  pleaded. 
"  He  has  not  told  me  so.  He  has  sent  her  no  word. 
He  could  have  done  so  easy  enough.  She  does 
not  know  if  he  be  dead  or  alive.  Is  that  the  way 
for  a  lover  to  act?  If  John  is  in  love,  he  is  very 
deliberate  about  it.  I  would  crawl  on  my  knees 
from  California  for  a  glimpse  of  her  face.  If  she's 
engaged  to  Morris  she  is  lost  to  John,  anyway. 
Even  admitting  that  John  does  love  her,  is  not  my 
love  a  thousand  times  greater  than  his?  She  was 
not  greatly  excited  when  his  name  was  mentioned 
to-night.  Perhaps  she  only  likes  him.  John  is  a 
royal  fellow  with  men,  but  I  doubt  his  popularity 
with  the  fair  sex.  He  is  too  matter  of  fact.  You 
don't  get  quotations  on  love  over  a  stock  ticker. 
John  plans  a  love  campaign  as  calmly  as  if  studying 
a  bank  statement.  Women  don't  like  such  treat- 
ment. Jessie  probably  resents  it.  If  John  has  lost 
her  it  is  his  own  fault.  Perhaps  he  gave  her  up 
long  ago.  Honestly,  I  believe  his  hate  for  Morris 
is  more  to  him  than  his  affection  for  Jessie  Garden." 


JOHN  BURT 

Thus  quibbled  James  Blake.  Awakened  love 
loosens  a  million  eloquent  tongues  to  plead  for  self, 
and  palsies  the  voice  which  should  speak  for  others. 
The  love  of  a  man  for  a  woman  is  the  sublimation 
of  his  egoism ;  his  unconscious  exaltation  of  desirec 


CHAPTER         TWENTY-SEVEN 

UNREASONING          PASSION 

FORTUNE  had  been  lavish  to  John  Burt  since 
he  fled   by   night   from   the    shores   of  New 
England.      He    entered    on   his    New   York 
career,  possessed  of  rare  gifts.     He  had  a  superb 
physique,  youth,  health,  wealth,  knowledge,  experi- 
ence and  intuition — the  seven-pointed  star  of  Suc- 
cess and  Power. 

He  looked  from  his  office  window  at  the  swarm- 
ing throngs  on  Wall  and  Nassau  streets.  Within  a 
stone's  throw  were  the  master  spirits  of  the  money 
world ;  men  whose  names  were  mountains  of  finan- 
cial strength,  whose  smallest  deeds  were  recorded 
for  the  delectation  of  an  eager  public.  And  John 
Burt  smiled  to  think  that  he  was  one  of  them — «. 
leader  but  unknown.  He  had  all  the  substance  c 
fame — none  of  its  acclaim. 

In  all  the  vast  world  only  two  persons  knew 
that  such  a  man  as  John  Burt  lived — James  Blake 
and  Peter  Burt. 

John  Burt  owned  stock  in  thousands  of  miles 
of  railroads.  He  was  an  investor  in  other  great 
enterprises  and  activities.  An  army  of  men  worked 
under  his  direction,  and  the  stock  market  rose  and 
fell  at  the  pressure  of  his  unseen  hand.  For  years 
he  had  rebelled  at  the  fate  which  had  made  him  a 
recluse,  which  denied  him  the  fellowship  and  confi- 
dence of  his  peers.  He  felt  a  keen  joy  over  the 
knowledge  that  the  day  was  approaching  when  he 

305 


JOHN  BURT 

could  assume  his  true  place  in  the  world  of  vast 
affairs. 

But  of  earth's  countless  millions  there  was  one 
above  all  others  to  whom  he  wished  to  tell  his 
secret.  He  impatiently  awaited  the  time  when  he 
could  look  into  Jessie  Garden's  face  and  read  the 
verdict  in  her  eyes.  With  eagerness  he  longed  for 
the  hour  when  Blake  should  report  the  result  of  the 
evening  spent  with  General  Garden.  For  the  first 
time  in  his  life  he  felt  unfit  for  the  exacting  duties 
of  the  day.  Were  years  of  patient  waiting  and  work- 
ing to  be  rewarded  or  unrequited? 

Blake  arrived  in  his  office  at  an  unusually  early 
hour  on  the  morning  following  his  introduction  to 
Jessie  Garden.  He  had  spent  a  miserable  night, 
racked  by  passions  and  torn  by  emotions  which 
strove  for  mastery  of  heart  and  brain.  No  sleep 
came  to  his  bloodshot  eyes,  and  for  hours  he  rest- 
lessly paced  the  floor. 

"  I  love  her;  my  God,  how  I  love  her,  but  I  also 
love  John!"  he  exclaimed  again  and  again,  as  the 
night  hours  crawled  slowly  away.  "  What  shall  I 
do  ;  what  can  I  do  ?  I  cannot  give  her  up.  By  God, 
I'll  not  give  her  up  for  any  man ;  not  even  for  John 
'Burt!  Dear  old  John!  What  a  dog  I  am!  What 
a  damned  hound  I  am  to  turn  and  bite  the  hand 
which  feeds  me!  But  I  love  her!  Am  I  to  blame 
for  loving  her?  How  can  I  help  it?  A  man  cannot 
love  a  friend  as  he  loves  a  woman.  Would  John 
surrender  the  woman  he  loved  for  me?  What  am  I 
306 


UNREASONING      PASSION 

to  do?  I  must  decide  before  I  see  him.  If  I  tell 
John  she  is  in  New  York  he  will  see  her  inside  of 
twenty-four  hours.  That  will  be  the  end  of  my 
hopes.  Does  she  love  him?  She  liked  him  when 
she  was  rich  and  when  he  didn't  have  a  dollar? 
Will  she  not  love  him  now  when  he  is  twenty  times 
a  millionaire  and  when  she  is  penniless?  Of  course 
she  will.  But  she  would  learn  to  love  me  were  it 
not  for  John.  She  shall  love  me !  She  must  love 
me!  I  cannot  live  without  her!  Oh,  why  did  I  ever 
see  her ! " 

In  this  unequal  contest  between  loyalty  and  pas- 
sion in  a  weak  and  self-indulgent  nature,  passion 
won  the  battle,  but  at  a  frightful  sacrifice.  His  con- 
science cried  out  against  the  decision,  and  no  sophis- 
tic pleading  could  still  its  persistent  voice.  His 
judgment  warned  him  that  he  was  doomed  to  defeat, 
but  with  the  frenzied  desperation  of  a  gambler  he 
staked  everything — honor,  friendship,  loyalty,  his 
business  career — all  on  the  turn  of  a  card,  and  dared 
to  meet  John  Burt  with  treachery  in  his  heart  and  a 
lie  on  his  lips. 

Such  was  the  transformation  wrought  in  the 
heart  of  a  naturally  good  man  by  the  influence  of  an 
innocent  woman.  Moralists  warn  the  world  against 
the  designing  woman;  dramatists  conjure  tragic 
situations  from  the  wiles  and  smiles  of  fair  sirens; 
the  pulpit  thunders  anathemas  against  those  who 
should  wear  the  scarlet  letter,  but  a  calm  study  of 
history  and  a  survey  of  to-day  shows  that  virtue  in- 

307 


JOHN  BURT 

spires  greater  tragedies  than  vice.  Vice  is  some- 
times alluring ;  virtue  is  ever  entrancing.  A  man 
may  dare  something  for  a  bad* woman;  he  will  risk 
all  for  a  good  woman. 

Surely  it  was  not  Jessie  Garden's  fault  that  her 
youth,  beauty  and  innocence  aroused  in  James  Blake 
a  wild  and  unreasoning  love.  Fate  had  located  four 
human  beings  for  a  short  space  of  time  in  an  ob- 
scure part  of  Massachusetts.  Chance  had  decreed 
that  James  Blake  should  be  a  boyhood  friend  of 
John  Burt ;  that  Jessie  Garden  should  visit  the  house 
of  their  neighbor ;  that  Arthur  Morris  should  come 
to  know  two  of  them  through  a  whim  of  his  banker 
father.  And  then  fate  scattered  these  human  atoms 
to  the  four  corners  of  the  earth,  only  to  pick  them 
up  and  place  them  in  New  York  City. 

One  of  the  three  men  was  strong  and  patient, 
one  was  weak  and  passionate,  one  was  cunning  and 
unscrupulous,  and  each,  with  all  the  strength  of  his 
being,  fixed  his  heart  on  this  one  woman. 

Blake  knew  that  John  Burt  was  in  his  private 
office,  but  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  hesitated 
to  enter  it.  Prosperity  had  erected  no  wall  of  for- 
mality between  these  two.  From  the  day  they 
fought  their  boyish  battle,  on  the  edge  of  the  fish- 
ing; pool,  they  had  called  each  other  "John"  and 
:*  Jim."  In  tacitly  accepting  John  Burt's  leadership, 
Blake  recognized  in  his  companion  these  traits 
which  attract  allegiance,  and  which  hold  it  by  unseen 
but  powerful  bands.  Py  a  display  of  tact  which 
308 


UNREASONING      PASSION 

amounted  to  genius,  John  Burt  had  aided  James 
Blake  without  patronizing  him,  and  had  forgiven 
his  repeated  mistakes  without  offending  him. 

Blake  strolled  slowly  through  the  connecting 
offices  and  entered  tiie  large  room  reserved  for 
customers.  Though  it  lacked  more  than  an  hour 
before  the  first  quotation  would  come  over  tiie 
ticker,  a  score  or  more  of  men  were  scattered  about 
the  room.  Those  who  knew  the  famous  operator 
bowed  respectfully.  Blake  gazed  absent-mindedly 
at  a  bulletin  board  containing  the  early  London 
and  Paris  quotations.  He  read  them,  but  they  had 
no  meaning.  He  looked  out  of  the  window.  The 
hands  of  the  clock  on  old  Trinity  pointed  to  the 
hour  of  nine,  and  as  he  watched  the  bell  rumbled 
the  strokes.  He  was  thoroughly,  abjectly  miserable. 

"Who  is  that  gentleman?"  asked  a  smooth- 
cheeked  and  dapper  young  man,  who  had  embarked 
on  his  first  speculative  venture  by  risking  the  major 
part  of  his  quarterly  allowance. 

"Why,  don't  you  know?"  exclaimed  his  com- 
panion. "  I  should  have  introduced  you.  That's 
James  Blake — the  famous  and  only  James  Blake.  I 
know  him  well,"  proudly.  "  Took  dinner  with  him 
at  the  club  Saturday  evening.  You  shall  meet  him, 
Lawrence..  Charming  fellow,  and  the  greatest 
operator  this  country  has  ever  produced.  If  you 
had  his  millions,  my  boy,  you  could  buy  Erie  in  ten 
thousand  share  lots." 

"  Dashing  looking  chap,  isn't  he  ?  "   observed 

J09 


JOHN  BURT 

the  novitiate.  "  By  Jove,  he's  handsome  !  Looks 
a  bit  fagged  out,  though.  Been  up  most  of  the 
night,  perhaps.  Seems  worried  over  something, 
don't  you  think  ?  " 

"  There's  a  big  deal  on,  "  said  the  other,  with  a 
sage  smile  and  lowered  voice.  "I  happen  to  know 
that  Blake  is  gunning  after  old  Stockton.  There'll 
be  fur  flying  in  this  market  in  a  few  days.  That's 
why  Blake  is  so  quiet.  He's  just  been  elected  a 
director  in  the  S.  T.  &  L.  Five  years  ago  he  didn't 
have  a  dollar.  Twenty  millions  in  five  years  is  his 
record  !  And  it  hasn't  enlarged  his  hat  in  the  least. 
He  tells  a  good  story,  sings  a  good  song,  and  no 
man  in  the  club  can  drink  him  under  the  table.  By 
the  way,  he  told  me  of  a  good  joke  on  young 
Rogers.  You  know  Rogers,  of  course  ? " 

"  Certainly.     What's  the  story  ?  " 

"  Rogers,  as  you  know,  is  a  high  flyer  and  not 
afraid  to  risk  his  money  on  any  fair  chance.  About 
a  week  ago  he  gave  a  dinner  at  Delmonico's,  and  at 
it  were  several  Wall  Street  operators.  Rogers  is 
always  on  the  lookout  for  market  tips.  As  a  rule 
he's  rather  cautious  in  his  habits,  but  that  night  hq 
drank  a  bit  too  much,  and  awoke  the  next  morning 
in  a  rather  muddled  condition.  But  he  was  per- 
fectly clear  on  one  thing. 

41  Somebody  had  given  him  a  tip  to  buy  oats, 
and  had  convinced  him  that  oats  were  a  good  thing. 
Who  gave  him  this  information,  or  what  the  argu- 
ment was,  Rogers  could  not  recall,  but  the  impres- 
310 


UNREASONING      PASSION 

sion  was  vivid  on  his  mind.  Now,  he  knew  nothing 
of  oats,  or  of  any  other  grain  ;  had  never  dealt  in 
a  bushel  in  his  life.  But  he  went  ahead  as  if  he 
had  operated  in  oats  all  his  life. 

•'  He  bought  one  hundred  thousand  bushels, 
and  the  price  began  to  climb.  Then  he  bought 
more  and  more.  The  shorts  got  scared,  ran  to 
cover.  On  the  final  jump,  Rogers  covered  and 
cleaned  up  $45.000. 

"  That  night  he  hunted  up  his  guests,  and 
tried  to  find  the  man  who  had  given  him  such 
valuable  advice.  None  of  them  knew  anything 
about  it.  Rogers  was  becoming  worried.  His 
coachman  drove  him  home,  and  as  he  stepped 
from  his  carriage  his  man  said  : 

" '  Excuse  me,  sir,  but  did  you  order  them 
oats?  Last  night  you  promised  to  buy  fifty 
bushels.  We're  clean  out,  sir. ' 

"  Rogers  had  found  the  man  who  had  given 
him  the  tip  to  buy  oats.  He  gave  the  fellow  a 
hundred  dollar  bill,  told  him  to  buy  fifty  bushels 
of  oats,  and  keep  the  change.  Ha,  ha,  ha !. 
Pretty  good,  don't  you  think.  Mr.  Blake  told 
me  that  the  other  night. " 

The  moment  for  action  had  arrived  for 
James  Blake.  He  compressed  his  lips,  strode 
through  the  room  and  a  moment  later  entered 
John's  office.  In  the  final  struggle  passion  was 
triumphant,  and  he  nerved  himself  as  best  he 
could  for  the  ordeal. 

3" 


JOHN  BUR 


John  Burt  looked  up.  The  haggard  expression 
on  Blake's  face  alarmed  him. 

"What's  happened,  Jim?  You're  pale  as  a 
ghost!" 

"It's  a  tooth,"  said  Blake,  rubbing  his  hand 
tenderly  over  his  face.  "  I'm  all  right  now,  but  it 
gave  me  a  bad  night.  The  dentist  drew  it  this 
morning.  I  dined  with  General  Garden.  I — I  sup« 
pose — " 

"  Has  Jessie  returned  ?    Did  you  see  her,  Jim  ?  " 

John  Burt  leaned  slightly  forward,  his  powerful 
hands  clasping  the  opposite  arms  of  the  chair.  He 
looked  earnestly  and  searchingly  into  Blake's  face, 
and  there  Was  in  his  glance  the  confident  hope  of 
one,  who  after  long  years  of  waiting,  had  the  right 
to  expect  favorable  tidings. 

"  Miss  Garden  has  not  returned,  but  she  is  ex- 
pected to  sail  next  Tuesday,"  said  Blake,  nervously 
lighting  a  cigar.  "  I  had  hoped  to  bring  you  better 
news,  John,  but  this  is  the  best  I  can  do.  I  thought 
it  would  be  indelicate  to  ask  General  Garden  for  her 
address,  since  nothing  but  a  cablegram  could  reach 
her  before  the  sailing  date." 

A  shade  of  disappointment  passed  over  ^Pohn 
Burt's  face  when  Blake  spoke,  but  a  smile  chased  it 
away  when  he  mentioned  the  time  of  her  departure. 

"You  did  right,  Jim,"  he  exclaimed.  "Let's 
see:  Tuesday  is  the  thirteenth.  I'm  glad  Jessie  isn't 
superstitious.  That  should  bring  her  to  New  York- 
on  the  twentieth.  That's  thirteen  days  from  now." 


UNREASONING     PASSION 


Blake  turned  ashen  when  the  second  thirteen 
was  announced,  but  John's  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
innocent  calendar,  his  thoughts  were  four  thousand 
miles  across  a  heaving  ocean,  and  he  did  not  notice 
the  superstitious  agony  imprinted  on  the  other's 
face.  By  what  miserable  chance  had  he  selected  that 
ominous  date  ?  Why  should  the  fatal  number  repeat 
itself?  For  an  instant  he  resolved  to  abandon  his 
desperate  plot. 

It  was  not  yet  too  late.  He  could  laughingly 
proclaim  it  a  jest,  and  tell  John  the  truth.  But  the 
fair  face  and  graceful  form  of  Jessie  Garden  floated 
before  his  eyes  and  a  mad,  wild  longing  froze  the 
words  on  his  lips.  He  had  cast  the  die — he  would 
abide  by  the  result.  His  judgment  warned  that  the 
odds  were  overwhelming,  but  with  insane  daring  he 
burned  the  bridges  behind  him.  It  was  a  gambler's 
chance— had  not  he  been  a  gambler  all  his  life? 

John  Burt  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  half 
closed  his  ey.es. 

"Two  Weeks,  lacking  a  day,"  he  mused  aloud.- 
"  There  is  a  Ipng-standing  account  I  should  like  to 
settle  before  Jessie  returns,"  he  said,  turning  to 
Blake,  who  had  partly  regained  his  composure. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Blake,  with  a  lively  show 
of  interest. 

"The  elder  Morris  ruined  General  Garden  as 
deliberately  as  ever  one  man  did  another,"  declared 
John  Burt,  his  deep  gray  eyes  flashing  a  menace  as 
he  brought  his  hand  to  the  desk  with  a  blow  which 

3'J 


JOHN  BURT 

made  it  rattle.  "  The  proceeds  of  that  villainy  have 
been  turned  over  to  his  son.  He  is  holding  this 
depreciated  stock  as  a  club  over  General  Garden's 
head,  and  has  the  insolence  to  connect  Jessie's  name 
with  his.  Five  years  ago  Jessie  Garden  was  the 
daughter  of  a  man  with  an  independent  fortune. 
Two  weeks  from  to-day  Arthur  Morris  shall  have 
made  restitution  to  the  man  his  father  wronged. 
The  certainty  of  this  reconciles  me  to  her  longer 
absence.  I  shall  win  this  campaign,  Jim,  and  it's  my 
last  one.  I  am  absolutely  confident  of  the  strength 
of  my  position.  When  did  Hawkins  wire  that  he 
would  be  here?" 

"  Thursday,"  answered  Blake.  Never  before 
had  John  Burt  betrayed  so  intense  a  feeling  in  any 
matter  discussed  between  them.  Every  time  he 
mentioned  Jessie's  name  Blake  felt  as  if  a  dagger 
were  driven  and  twisted  in  his  heart.  John  Burt 
walked  back  and  forth  like  a  lion,  eager  to  crush 
down  the  puny  restraints  which  held  him  from  his 
prey.  Every  motion  and  gesture  was  instinct  with 
curbed  strength.  Blake  shrank  back  in  his  chair. 

"  I  shall  not  wait  for  Hawkins,"  said  John 
Burt,  abruptly.  "He  owns  a  block  of  this  L.  & 
O.  stock  and  I  shall  assume  that  I  have  his  co-oper- 
ation. I  shall  have  control  of  L.  &  O.  before  he 
reaches  New  York.  How  did  it  close  last  night?" 

"Twenty-eight  and  a  half,"  replied  Blake. 

"  It  opens  to-day  at  a  quarter,"  said  John  Burt, 
standing  over  the  ticker.  "  Take  all  offerings  up 


UNREASONING       PASSION 

to  thirty,  but  do  not  force  matters.  You  under- 
stand, Jim?  Watch  it  closely  and  keep  me  ad- 
vised." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Blake,  as  he  arose  to  go. 

"Wait  a  minute,"  called  John,  as  the  other 
stood  by  the  door.  "Sam  Rounds  was  in  to  see 
you  yesterday,  was  he  not?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Send  for  him  at  once.  Tell  him  it's  some- 
thing important.  When  he  comes,  bring  him  in 
here  and  leave  us  alone  until  I  give  you  word.  Keep 
on  buying  Northwestern.  Sell  the  Tractions.  That's 
all."  ' 

Blake  entered  his  own  office  and  flung  himself 
into  a  chair.  He  felt  as  if  he  had  aged  years  in  the 
hour  that  had  passed. 


CHAPTER       TWENTY- EIGHT 

MEASURING  LANCES 

WHEN  Randolph  Morris  retired  in  favor  of 
his  son  he  transferred  no  small  burden  of 
responsibility  to  the  shoulders  of  the  latter. 

Arthur  Morris  inherited  his  father's  money 
and  his  ambitions,  but  not  his  masterly  grasp  of 
affairs.  Astute  as  he  was  in  most  things^  Randolph 
Morris  was  deceived  in  his  estimate  of  his  son  and 
heir.  This  error  of  judgment  does  credit  to  the 
parental  love  of  the  elder  Morris,  and  must  be  con- 
doned on  that  ground.  To  the  fond  eye  of  the 
father,  Arthur  possessed  the  very  qualities  which 
had  founded  the  Morris  fortunes.  Yet  by  some 
strange  alchemy,  which  preserved  the  external  while 
transforming  the  hidden,  what  was  judgment  in  the 
elder  Morris  became  daring  in  Arthur,  policy  in  the 
former  degenerated  to  cunning  in  the  latter,  caution 
changed  to  covetousness,  and  conservatism  to  un- 
scrupulousness.  So  impalpable  were  the  surface  in- 
dications that  they  might  never  have  been  discov- 
iCred  were  it  not  for  the  results  which  followed 
Arthur's  accession  to  the  Morris  dynasty. 

Arthur  Morris  had  little  sympathy  with  that 
fine  aid  conservatism  which  stops  short  of  direct 
participation  in  corruption.  He  believed,  as  has 
been  stated,  that  every  man  has  his  price,  and  was 
willing  to  pay  it,  provided  it  promised  returns. 

The  renegade  who,  for  a  thousand  dollars,  sold 
a  public  right  worth  ten  times  the  amount,  still 


MEASURING        LANCES 

considered  Morris  his  benefactor,  and  held  himself 
under  obligations  to  his  briber.  This  purchased 
loyalty  is  the  secret  of  the  success  of  political 
machines.  It  is  that  gratitude  which  has  been  so 
aptly  defined  as  u  a  lively  sense  of  favors  to  come." 
It  is  "  the  cohesive  power  of  public  plunder." 

He  was  the  controlling  factor  in  a  powerful 
bank,  the  acknowledged  master  of  corrupt  political 
influences,  and  a  daring  operator  on  the  stock  ex- 
change— a  compact  trinity  of  seemingly  irresistible 
power.  His  smile  was  sought ;  his  frown  dreaded. 
Until  James  Blake  established  himself  in  New  York, 
no  young  millionaire  was  in  a  position  to  challenge 
his  supremacy,  and  the  wise  ones  predicted  that, 
should  Blake  dare  measure  lances,  he  would  go 
down  to  defeat. 

Ambitious  to  pose  as  a  Wall  Street  leader, 
Arthur  Morris  had  assumed  an  enormous  load  of 
stocks,  and  the  success  of  his  ventures  had  given 
him  the  following  which  ever  attends  the  leader  in 
a  rising  market.  In  addition  to  this  speculative 
risk,  Morris  had  invested  heavily  in  a  local  enter- 
prise which  had  secured  several  valuable  franchises, 
and  was  confidently  in  expectation  of  others  at  the 
hands  of  the  city  officials. 

It  will  be  sufficiently  accurate  to  designate  the 
Morris  enterprise  by  the  name  of  "  The  Cosmopoli- 
tan Improvement  Company,"  and  to  state  that  its 
assets  consisted  in  its  acquired  and  prospective 
franchises.  While  purporting  to  afford  relief  from 

3*7 


JOHN  BURT 

existing  monopolies,  it  was  in  fact  nothing  more  nor 
less  than  a  well-planned  attempt  to  acquire  public 
rights  and  force  their  sale  upon  threatened  competi- 
tors. In  the  parlance  of  finance  it  was  a  "  sand-bag." 
The  speculative  public  estimated  the  value  of  the 
prospective  robbery  at  nine  millions  of  dollars. 
These  seem  small  figures  to-day,  but  in  those  modest 
years  Arthur  Morris  was  esteemed  a  king  in  his 
field  of  operation. 

Modern  finance  was  then  in  its  infancy,  and 
public  plunder  was  wrapped  in  its  swaddling 
clothes. 

Arthur  Morris  took  up  the  work  so  auspi- 
ciously begun  by  his  father — the  wrecking  of  the 
L.  &  O.  railroad  company.  In  this  campaign,  Gen- 
eral Garden  and  many  others  had  lost  their  for- 
tunes. Morris  held  control  of  the  bonds,  and 
looked  forward  to  the  day  when  the  stock  would  be 
wiped  out  and  this  splendid  property  fall  into  his 
hands.  It  was  an  open  secret  in  railway  circles  that 
the  L.  &  O.  would  then  be  absorbed  by  one  of  the 
two  powerful  companies  which  intersected  its  lines. 

Neither  Randolph  Morris  nor  his  son  saw  rea- 
son to  believe  that  anything  could  interfere  with  the 
successful  issue  of  their  plans.  It  was  a  case  of 
"freeze  out"  for  the  desperate  but  despairing  mi- 
nority stockholders,  and  for  a  long  time  the  market 
temperature  had  been  below  zero.  They  doggedly 
awaited  the  day  when  the  powerful  Morris  interest 
should  make  the  final  move. 


MEASURING        LANCES 

John  Burt  detected  the  flaw  in  this  conspiracy. 
Mr.  Hawkins  had  guardedly  confirmed  his  judg- 
ment and  tentatively  promised  his  support,  and 
John  Hawkins  had  yet  to  beat  a  retreat  in  railway 
strategy.  Confident  of  the  strength  of  his  position,, 
John  Burt  had  already  taken  the  initial  steps  for 
the  control  of  L.  &  O.  as  has  been  narrated.  He 
set  aside  three  battalions  of  a  million  dollars  each, 
and  held  them  in  reserve  against  the  entrenched 
wealth  in  the  Morris  vaults. 

Then  he  again  scanned  the  field  of  action,  and 
with  unerring  judgment  placed  his  finger  on  the 
weakest  point  in  the  Morris  defences.  The  Cos- 
mopolitan Improvement  Company  was  a  rampart 
on  paper.  John  Burt  proposed  to  enfilade  it.  He 
wheeled  four  millions  into  position,  with  more  in 
reserve  if  necessary.  Then  he  threw  out  a  legal 
skirmish  line. 

In  James  Blake's  name  was  a  large  block  of 
stock  in  the  company  whose  interests  were  menaced 
by  the  Cosmopolitan.  Though  Blake  had  recently 
been  elected  a  director  in  the  former  company,  John 
Burt  proceeded  to  make  an  independent  investiga- 
tion. The  highest  legal  authority  assured  him  that 
the  franchises  already  granted  to  the  Cosmopolitan 
were  invalid. 

As  the  crisis  in  his  affairs  neared,  John  Burt 
took  a  more  direct  charge  of  affairs.  The  trusted 
employees  of  James  Blake  &  Company  were  in- 
formed that  "John  Burton"  was  a  silent  partner, 


JOHN  BURT 

who  represented  large  California  interests,  and  that 
his  orders  must  be  followed  without  question.  For 
months  he  had  steadily  converted  his  securities  into 
money,  which  reposed  in  vaults  to  which  he  held  the 
keys.  The  only  stocks  in  Blake's  name  were  those 
of  the  company  menaced  by  the  Cosmopolitan,  and 
a  few  scattered  blocks  of  L.  &  O. 

Like  a  man-of-war  stripped  for  battle,  John 
Burt  carried  no  encumbrances.  He  had  mastered 
the  secret  of  the  stupendous  efficiency  of  cash 
money  in  a  Wall  Street  contest  against  alleged 
securities. 


CHAPTER       TWENTY-NINE 

ALDERMAN     SAMUEL    LEMUEL     ROUNDS 

IN  response  to  James  Blake's  message,  Alderman 
Samuel  Rounds  called  and  was  conducted  to 
the  private  office  of  the  famous  operator. 

Only  a  few  hours  had  passed  since  Blake 
treacherously  had  burst  the  bonds  which  years  of 
friendship  had  welded  between  himself  and  John 
Burt.  They  were  wretched,  nagging  hours.  He 
looked  longingly  forward  to  the  time  when  in  Jes- 
sie's company  he  hoped  to  enjoy  sweet  payment  for 
his  perfidy.  The  excitement  of  a  nervous  market, 
and  the  favorable  movement  of  stocks  in  which  he 
was  interested,  had  no  effect  on  James  Blake.  The 
tape  seemed  burdened  with  the  story  of  a  murdered 
friendship.  Two  figures  were  ever  before  his  eyes 
— John  Burt,  stern  and  unforgiving;  Jessie  Garden, 
radiant  and  lovable. 

Blake  had  anticipated  with  zest  the  meeting 
between  John  Burt  and  Sam  Rounds.  It  had  been 
contemplated  for  several  weeks,  but  now  that  the 
hour  was  at  hand,  he  took  little  interest  in  it.  In  a 
vague  way  it  seemed  only  another  menace  to  his 
undoing.  He  found  it  difficult  to  respond  to  Sam's 
hearty  greeting,  and  terminated  the  interview  as 
soon  as  possible. 

"  Heou  are  ye,  Jim ;  heou  are  ye ! "  exclaimed 
Sam,  as  he  greeted  Blake  in  his  luxurious  office. 
"  Don't  it  beat  time,  as  uncle  Toby  Haynes  uster 
say,  that  you  an'  I  are  here  in  New  York,  an' 


JOHN  BURT 

you  are  rich,  an'  I  am — well,  say  fair  to  middlin'. 
There  were  only  three  of  us  young  fellers  'round 
Rocky  Woods ;  you  an'  John  Burt  an'  me.  Most 
all  the  rest  of  'em  was  old  folks.  Never  saw  such 
a  place  as  Rocky  Woods  fer  old  timers.  None  of 
'em  dies ;  they  kinder  dries  up  like  an'  blows  away. 
You  an'  John  an'  me  was  the  only  boys  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, an'  two  of  us  is  here  in  New  York — right 
here  in  the  same  buildin'.  Do  you  suppose  we'll 
ever  hear  from  John  Burt,  Jim?  I've  allers  said 
he'd  turn  up  on  top,  some  day  or  nother." 

"  Would  you  like  to  hear  from  him,"  asked 
Blake,  without  raising  his  eyes. 

"Would  I?  D'ye  know  anything  erbout  him, 
Jim  ?  Dew  ye  really  ?  " 

"There's  a  man  in  the  next  room  who  knows  a 
lot  about  him,"  replied  Blake.  "  That's  why  I  sent 
for  you.  Come  and  meet  him."  He  led  the  way, 
and  the  dazed  Sam  followed. 

Blake  opened  John  Burt's  door  and  stood  in 
the  way  as  Sam  entered.  John  was  seated  at  his 
desk  and  did  not  turn  his  head  or  make  a  move 
when  Blake  said : 

"Alderman  Rounds  wishes  to  speak  to  you." 

Blake  stepped  outside  and  closed  the  door. 
John  deliberately  blotted  an  unfinished  letter,  rose 
and  advanced  to  meet  Sam,  who  stood  awkwardly 
by  the  door,  hat  in  hand. 

"  I  am  glad  to  meet  you,  Alderman  Rounds," 
he  said,  extending  his  hand.  "  I  have  heard  of  you 
322 


ALDERMAN         ROUNDS 

and  wish  the  pleasure  of  your  acquaintance.  Pray 
be  seated,  alderman." 

The  sharp  blue  eyes  of  the  visitor  were  fixed 
on  the  speaker,  and  only  for  an  instant  was  he  in 
doubt.  The  tall,  graceful  youth  he  once  knew  in 
Massachusetts  had  developed  into  superb  man- 
hood, but  the  trimmed  beard  did  not  efface  the 
lines  of  the  resolute  chin,  and  the  Burt  eyes — clear, 
calm  and  magnetic — were  those  of  the  lad  he  knew 
and  admired  in  Rocky  Woods. 

"  I  know  ye,  John !  God  bless  ye,  John  !  Heou 
are  ye,  John  Burt !  I'm  plumb  tickled  ter  death 
ter  see  ye  !  Well,  well,  well ! " 

His  honest  eyes  glistened  as  he  threw  his  hat 
to  the  floor,  and  grasped  John's  hands  with  a  grip 
which  would  have  made  the  average  man  wince. 

"And  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  Sam  I  It  seems 
like  coming  back  to  life  to  meet  you.  How  are 
you,  old  fellow?  Sit  down  and  tell  me  all  about 
yourself  and  Rocky  Woods." 

"The  last  time  I  saw  ye,  John,"  he  said,  "was 
under  them  maple  trees  in  front  of  the  Bishop 
house.  I  reckon  you  ain't  forgot  that  night.  You 
galloped  away  in  the  dark  on  my  horse  an'  I  ain't 
seen  ye  since.  Early  next  mornin'  I  went  to  your 
grandad's  house.  He  was  just  gittin'  ready  to  untie 
them  constables  that  was  after  ye.  He  gave  me  a 
message  to  Captain  Horton,  down  tew  New  Bed- 
ford, an'  I  took  the  early  train  an'  went  there.  I 
reckoned  you  was  comin'  there,  an'  wanted  awfully 

3*1 


JOHN  BURT 

tew  wait  fer  ye,  but  knew  it  wan't  safe,  so  I  come 
back  home.  Now  you  begin  at  the  place  like  in 
them  stories  which  run  in  the  Fireside  Companion 
where  it  says  '  to  be  continued  in  our  next,'  and 
keep  right  on  up  to  the  present  time." 

John  laughed  and  gave  Sam  a  hurried  sketch 
of  his  career.  He  told  of  his  voyage  around  Cape 
Horn,  his  arrival  in  San  Francisco,  the  search  for 
the  mine  described  by  the  dying  sailor,  his  meeting 
with  Jim  Blake,  the  discovery  of  the  gold  mine,  his 
association  with  John  Hawkins  and  the  incidents 
which  led  to  the  formation  of  the  firm  of  James 
Blake  &  Company.  John  said  nothing  to  lead  Sam 
to  think  that  Blake  was  only  a  representative,  but 
the  shrewd  Yankee  guessed  the  truth. 

As  John  proceeded  with  the  tale  of  successes, 
which  he  modestly  minimized  or  attributed  to  per- 
sistent good  fortune,  Sam's  grin  elongated  and  his 
homely  face  was  incandescent  with  joy.  When  John 
had  finished,  the  alderman  could  manifest  his  de- 
light by  no  means  other  than  executing  a  wild  fan- 
dango. 

"  I  swan,  John,  this  is  tew  good  tew  be  true !  " 
he  gasped,  shaking  hands  again.  "You  ain't  told 
me  half  the  truth,  an'  ye  don't  have  tew.  I  can 
guess  the  rest.  You're  James  Blake  &  Company. 
You're  the  man  who's  taught  these  Wall  Street 
chaps  a  lesson  I  You're  the  lad  the  papers  mean 
when  they  write  erbout  'The  Young  Wizard  of 
Finance ' !  I'm  proud  of  ye,  John  1  Didn't  I  allers 
3*4 


ALDERMAN         ROUNDS 

say  somethin'  like  this  would  happen?  The  last 
time  I  saw  ye  I  told  ye  that  ye  was  clean  strain  an' 
thoroughbred,  an'  that  they  couldn't  down  ye.  I 
knows  hosses,  an'  I  knows  somethin'  erbout  men, 
an'  I'd  pick  ye  fer  a  winner  every  time.  An'  you 
can't  have  too  much  good  fortune  to  suit  me,  John, 
an'  I  don't  want  a  thing  from  ye.  I  just  like  tew 
see  ye  win,  because — well,  because  ye  orter  win." 

"Thank  you,  Sam." 

"  Don't  it  beat  thunder  how  things  turn  out?" 
observed  Sam.  "I  saw  Jim  when  he  was  down  tew 
Rocky  Woods  a  few  months  ago,  an'  when  he  told 
me  that  he  was  the  Jim  Blake,  you  could  a'  knocked 
me  down  with  a  willow  switch.  I  said  tew  myself 
then,  that  had  it  been  John  Burt  I  wouldn't  been 
surprised.  An'  now,  by  thunder,  it  was  John  Burt 
who  did  it  after  all.  But  how  erbout  Jim  Blake, 
John?  If  you're  James  Blake  &  Company,  who'n 
the  dickens  is  Jim?" 

"  I  am  not  James  Blake  &  Company,"  said 
John  with  a  smile.  "I  am  the  Company.  Jim  has 
a  substantial  interest  in  the  firm,  and  has  done  much 
towards  its  success.  Jim  had  a  siege  of  bad  luck  in 
California,  but  he's  now  solidly  on  his  feet,  and  de- 
serves all  the  reputation  he  has  made." 

"  I'm  mighty  glad  tew  hear  it,"  declared  Sam, 
41  but  I  reckon  I  can  guess  who  does  the  thinkin'. 
Jim's  a  fine  feller,  but  he  allerswas  reckless  an'  care- 
less, though  mebbe  he's  outgrown  it.  Where  is 
he?  I  suppose  he  thinks  he  played  a  fine  joke  on 

325 


JOHN  BURT 

me.  I  like  such  jokes.  Send  fer  him,  John,  an' 
we'll  all  talk  it  over  together,  like  we  did  in  the  old 
days  back  in  Rocky  Woods." 

John  pressed  a  button  and  an  attendant  re- 
sponded. 

"If  Mr.  Blake  is  not  busy,  say  that  I  should  like 
to  see  him,"  he  said. 

"  There's  one  thing  you  haven't  told  me  erbout," 
said  Sam,  shifting  his  feet  awkwardly.  "I  don't 
want  tew  pry  into  your  private  affairs,  John,  but 
have  you  seen  her  yet — I  mean  Miss  Garden?" 

The  door  opened  softly  and  James  Blake 
entered  so  silently  that  neither  heard  him. 

"  I  have  not  seen  Miss  Garden,"  replied  John. 
"  She  is  not  in  the  city." 

"Yes  she  is,"  asserted  Sam  eagerly.  "I  saw 
her  yesterday  ridin'  down  Fifth  Avenue." 

John  Burt  had  seated  himself  at  his  desk,  which 
he  was  putting  in  order.  Surprised  at  Sam's  posi- 
tive statement  he  turned  quickly.  He  saw  Blake 
standing  by  the  door.  A  shaft  of  sunlight  fell  full 
on  his  face.  His  hand  was  on  the  knob,  and  he 
stood  motionless  as  if  riveted  to  the  floor.  There 
was  that  in  his  expression  and  attitude  which  chal- 
lenged John  Burt's  attention. 

Students  of  psychological  phenomena  may  offer 
an  explanation  of  the  impalpable  impression  re- 
ceived by  John  Burt  in  that  moment.  His  was  the 
dominating  mind;  Blake's  the  subjective.  By  that 
mysterious  telepathy  which  mocks  analysis  and  scorns 
326 


ALDERMAN         ROUNDS 

description,  a  message  passed  to  John  Burt.  He 
yet  lacked  the  cipher  to  translate  it.  It  dotted  no 
definite  warning  and  sounded  none  but  a  vague  sus- 
picion, but  the  vibration,  though  faint,  was  discord- 
ant. There  are  natures  so  delicately  constituted 
that  their  consciousness  stands  ever  on  guard — a 
sleepless  sentinel  against  smiling  treachery. 

John  Burt  glanced  at  Blake  and  turned  to  Sam. 

"You  surely  are  mistaken,  Sam,"  he  said. 
"  Miss  Garden  is  abroad  and  will  not  sail  for  New 
York  for  several  days." 

"  Is  that  so  ?  "  Sam  ran  his  fingers  through  his 
red  hair  and  looked  puzzled.  "  That's  mighty  curi- 
ous! I've  got  an  eye  like  a  hawk,  an'  I'd  a  sworn  it 
was  her.  I  met  her  once  or  twice  when  she  was  here 
before,  an'  thought  sure  it  was  her  I  saw  yesterday. 
Must  be  wrong  though.  Guess  I'd  better  begin 
wearin'  glasses.  So  ye  ain't  seen  her  yet,  John.  I'll 
bet  she'll  be  plumb  glad  tew  meet  you.  We  was- 
talkin'  erbout  ye  the  last  time  I  saw  her.  That's 
two  years  ago.  She  hadn't  forgot  ye,  John." 

Blake  closed  the  door  and  Sam  turned  at  the 
click  of  the  latch. 

44  Why,  here's  Jim  I  Well,  well,  well  I  Here  we 
are  all  together!  Thought  I  wouldn't  know  John, 
didn't  ye?  I  knew  him  the  moment  he  spoke, 
didn't  I,  John?  And  so  old  Rocky  Woods  has 
turned  out  the  great  firm  of  James  Blake  &  Com- 
pany! I  want  to  congratulate  both  of  ye.  Are  ye 
all  through  work?  Let's  go  somewhere  where  we 

3*7 


JOHN  BURT 

can  have  somethin'  in  honor  of  this  mee-mentous 
occasion.  Come  on,  boys,  it's  my  treat!  The  last 
time  I  treated  John,  I  bought  him  an'  Jessie  sody 
an'  ice  cream.  Haw,  haw,  haw !  Sody  an'  ice  cream ! 
D'ye  remember  it,  John?  I  wish  she  was  here  now. 
I'd  buy  somethin'  better'n  ice  cream  an'  sody 
water.  Come  on,  let's  go  somewhere." 

"  Many  thanks  for  your  invitation,  Sam,  and  I'd 
like  to  accept  it,  but  it's  hardly  safe,"  said  John. 
"  In  a  few  weeks  I  hope  to  enjoy  your  hospitality 
and  to  extend  mine,  but  until  that  time  I  am  '  John 
Burton'  and  you  don't  know  me.  Sit  down,  Sam, 
we  wish  to  discuss  a  business  matter,  or  perhaps 
more  accurately  speaking,  a  political  one.  Jim,  send 
one  of  the  clerks  out  for  a  magnum,  and  we'll  drink 
Sam's  health  here.  I'm  still  an  exile,  Sam.  Until 
an  hour  ago,  Jim  was  the  only  man  in  New  York  who 
was  acquainted  with  me.  But  I'm  filing  away  my 
prison  bars,  and  you  can  help  me,  Sam." 

"lean  help  you?"  echoed  Sam.  "You  just 
call  on  me  fer  anything  except  murder — an'  I  might 
manage  that." 

Blake  had  been  singularly  quiet,  but  he  joined 
in  the  laugh  which  followed,  and  left  the  room  to 
order  the  proposed  refreshment. 

"Jim  ain't  lookin'  well,"  said  Sam,  sympatheti- 
cally. "  Looks  sorter  peaked  like ;  don't  you  think 
so,  John?" 

"I  noticed  that  this  morning,  and  told  him  so," 
John  replied.  "  He  has  been  under  a  severe  strain 
328 


ALDERMAN         ROUNDS 

for  weeks,  and  possibly  the  change  of  climate  doesn't 
agree  with  him.  I'm  going  to  send  him  into  the 
country  for  a  few  days.  He  is  entitled  to  a  rest, 
and  there's  no  reason  why  he  shouldn't  have  it.  Jim 
and  I  have  been  through  many  hard  fought  engage- 
ments together,  but  at  last  a  decisive  victory  is  in 
sight.  Do  you  know  Arthur  Morris?"  he  asked 
abruptly. 

"You  bet  I  do;  but  he  don't  know  me  except 
as  Alderman  Samuel  L.  Rounds.  Why  d'ye  ask, 
John?" 

Blake  returned  and  took  a  seat  near  Sam. 

"Our  firm  is  interested  in  the  ordinances 
submitted  to  your  Board,  by  the  terms  of  which 
new  and  amended  franchises  are  proposed  for  the 
Cosmopolitan  Improvement  Company,"  began  John. 
"  I  have  studied  the  record  of  the  proceedings,  and 
find  that  you  spoke  and  voted  against  these  bills 
when  originally  proposed  and  passed.  Do  you  mind 
telling  me,  Sam,  what  you  know  of  this  matter  ?  Can 
you  do  so  without  violating  your  trust?" 

"You  bet  I  can;  an'  I  know  a  lot,"  declared 
Sam.  "  I  was  comin'  over  to  tell  Jim,  anyhow,  an'  I 
reckon  I  know  what  you  are  after.  There's  no  use 
of  my  tellin'  ye  erbout  this  fellow  Morris.  He's 
nothin'  more  er  less'n  a  high  toned  thief.  He  owns, 
or  thinks  he  owns  the  Board  of  Aldermen.  Perhaps 
he  does,  but  to  my  way  of  thinkin'  he's  likely  ter 
be  fooled.  There's  er  lot  of  new  members  who  are 
agin  him,  an'  some  of  the  old  ones  that  he  bought 

-329 


JOHN  BURT 

before  want  ter  be  bought  agin,  an'  they  have  raised 
their  price.  Morris  was  tew  my  house  last  night. 
Say,  John,  I  wonder  what  he'd  think  if  he  knew  I 
was  in  your  office  now?  Darned  if  this  ain't  a  funny 
world  1  " 

"What  did  Morris  have  to  say?"  asked  Blake, 
who  did  not  need  to  counterfeit  an  interest  in  this 
new  development. 

"He  had  er  lot  tew  say,"  replied  Sam.  "A 
year  ago  he  offered  me  five  thousand  dollars  fer  my 
vote.  I  told  him  then  that  I  couldn't  do  business 
with  him,  an'  he  managed  tew  pass  his  bills  agin  my 
vote  an'  infloo-ence.  Guess  he  wants  me  pretty  bad 
just  now.  Last  night  he  raised  his  price  tew  ten 
thousand." 

"What  did  you  answer  him,  Sam?"  asked  John 
Burt. 

"  I  told  him  I'd  think  erbout  it,"  and  Sam's  eyes 
twinkled  beneath  their  red  eyebrows.  "  I  said  tew 
him,  'Mr.  Morris,'  says  I,  'ten  thousand  dollars  is 
an  awful  lot  of  money,  an'  I  can  use  it  mighty  handy 
in  my  business,'  I  says,  '  but  I'm  afraid  my  people 
will  think  I've  been  improperly  infloo-enced,' "  and 
Sam  laughed  as  if  this  were  the  greatest  joke  he  had 
ever  perpetrated. 

"'These  ordinances  are  all  right  an'  fer  the 
benefit  of  the  public,'  says  this  self-sacrificing  Mor- 
ris. 'I'm  sorry,  Alderman  Rounds,'  he  says, 'that 
you're  prejudiced  agin  them.  If  you'll  change  your 
mind  there's  six  other  aldermen  who'll  dew  the  same, 
330 


ALDERMAN         ROUNDS 

an'  when  the  bills  are  passed  ye  gits  ten  thousand 
more.'" 

"That's  what  he  said  tew  me,"  continued  Sam, 
"  an'  I  told  him  that  he  was  a  liberal  sport,  an'  that 
I'd  take  his  offer  under  consideration  an'  hold  it  in 
abee-ance.  Then  I  asked  him  who  the  six  others 
were  who'd  follow  my  lead,  an'  he  told  me.  The 
seven  of  us  gives  him  a  majority." 

"Was  that  all?" 

"  I  should  say  not,"  declared  Sam.  "I  said  tew 
him,  says  I,  'Mr.  Morris,  I  knows  all  these  alder- 
men, an'  they  are  my  personal  friends.  I'm  a  busi- 
ness gent,'  I  says,  'havin'  been  in  hoss  tradin'  an'  in 
the  commission  business  all  my  life,  an'  perhaps  this 
game  is  right  in  my  line.  Suppose  I  contract,'  says 
I,  '  to  deliver  all  these  seven  votes,'  I  says,  '  fer  the 
lump  sum  of  eighty  thousand  dollars:  forty  per 
cent,  down  in  cash,  an'  the  balance  deposited  with 
a  third  party  an'  paid  over  when  the  bills  is  passed  ?' 
Morris  thought  a  while  an'  said  he'd  be  glad  tew  dew 
that.  I  told  him  I'd  think  erbout  it  a  lot  an'  let  him 
know  in  a  few  days." 

Sam  paused  and  looked  keenly  first  at  John 
Burt  and  then  at  Blake. 

"  I  hope  you  don't  think,  John,"  he  said,  "  that 
I'd  any  idea  of  takin'  his  offer.  I — " 

"I  certainly  do  not,"  said  John.  "I'm  simply 
astounded  that  Morris  has  done  the  one  thing  I 
would  have  him  do.  This  is  a  rare  piece  of  good 
fortune,  Jim,  isn't  it?" 

S3* 


JOHN  BURT 

"  It's  great  luck,"  declared  Blake,  with  genuine 
enthusiasm.  Under  the  stimulus  of  Sam's  dis- 
closures he  forgot  Jessie  for  the  moment,  and  again 
took  his  position  side  by  side  with  John  Burt. 

"This  is  remarkable,  Sam!"  he  exclaimed. 
"John  and  I  have  been  planning  to  catch  Morris  at 
some  such  game  as  this,  and  have  hoped  that  you 
might  help  us.  And  now  Morris  has  set  and  sprung 
his  own  trap  and  caught  himself  in  its  jaws." 

"  I  reckon  I  know  what  tew  dew,"  asserted 
Sam.  "  I'm  tew  see  these  six  aldermen  that  Morris 
needs,  an'  then  I'm  goin'  tew  meet  him  an'  make 
my  report.  If  it's  all  right  he's  tew  pay  me  thirty- 
two  thousand  dollars  in  cash,  an'  put  the  balance 
up  with  some  man  that  I  name.  I  have  a  rich  friend 
in  mind  that  Morris  thinks  is  all  right,  an'  one  that 
I  know  is  all  right,  so  far's  I'm  concerned.  There's 
three  of  these  aldermen  that  Morris  couldn't  buy 
if  he  offered  each  of  'em  the  whole  lump  sum,  an' 
I  can  handle  the  others." 

"That  is  all  right  so  far  as  it  goes,"  interrupted 
John  Burt,  "  but  Morris  is  shrewd  enough  to  de- 
mand positive  pledges  before  paying  over  any 
such  amount  of  money.  You  should  have  your 
aldermanic  friends  sign  and  execute  written  prom- 
ises to  support  these  bills,  and  keep  certified 
copies  of  the  same.  These  agreements  will  not  be 
binding,  legally  or  morally.  I  will  consult  my  attor- 
ney in  this  matter  and  let  you  know  the  best 
methods  of  procedure." 

33* 


ALDERMAN         ROUNDS 

"All  right,  John;  anything  you  say  goes  with 
me,"  laughed  Sam.  "When  shall  I  drop  in  agin?" 

"  Early  to-morrow  morning,"  replied  John. 
"  Send  word  to  Judge  Wilson,  Jim,  that  I  shall  call 
on  him  this  evening." 

The  roar  of  the  Wall  Street  district  subsided 
to  a  gentle  murmur.  The  great  office  buildings 
had  poured  forth  their  armies  of  clerks  and  custo- 
mers, and  the  streets  once  thronged  with  excited 
men  now  resounded  to  the  laughter  of  children 
and  the  cries  of  the  few  belated  hawkers.  The  sun 
dropped  behind  the  spire  of  old  Trinity,  and  in  its 
shadow  these  three  men  drank  one  another's  health 
in  honor  of  their  strange  reunion. 

Sam  Rounds  was  proud  and  happy,  and  the 
bookkeepers  in  the  outer  offices  smiled  in  sympathy 
to  the  echo  of  his  laughter.  John  Burt  was  pleased, 
but  thoughtful,  and  a  gleam  of  coming  triumph 
was  in  his  eyes  as  he  touched  glasses  with  his  com- 
panions. 

James  Blake  made  no  effort  to  enter  into  the 
spirit  of  the  occasion,  and  he  fancied  that  his  laugh 
sounded  hollow  and  that  his  smiles  lacked  sincerity. 
When  he  found  John  Burt's  gaze  upon  him  he 
unconsciously  averted  his  eyes. 

Like  those  who  dream  of  being  naked  in  the 
streets,  and  who  struggle  vainly  to  cover  their 
shame,  James  Blake  lived  in  a  waking  nightmare, 
with  his  soul  bare  to  the  searching  gaze  of  the  man 
he  had  wronged. 

1JS 


CHAPTER  THIRTY 

ON  THIN  ICE 

BLAKE  found  a  ready  excuse  to  call  on  General 
Garden.  The  pronounced  activity  in  L.  & 
O.  served  as  a  pretext  for  an  evening  visit  to 
the  Bishop  residence.  Blake  was  greeted  by  the  old 
banker  with  dignified  cordiality,  and  his  heart  beat 
high  as  Jessie  frankly  welcomed  him. 

To  his  enraptured  fancy  she  was  the  incarna- 
tion of  all  that  is  lovable  and  fascinating  in  woman. 
Nor  was  it  matter  for  wonder.  The  dark  eyes  had 
the  melting  tenderness  of  blue,  and  the  proud  little 
mouth  was  bewitching  in  laughter  or  repose.  Her 
hair,  falling  back  from  the  pure  brow,  was  a  crown 
which  needed  no  gems  to  enhance  the  queenly 
beauty  of  its  wearer.  A  princess  gown  revealed 
blending  curves,  and  every  movement  was  instinct 
with  that  grace  which  nature  bequeaths  to  perfect 
womanhood. 

Under  the  witchery  of  her  presence,  James 
Blake  wondered  that  he  had  hesitated  for  a  moment 
to  risk  life  itself  to  win  her.  What  was  friendship, 
loyalty,  fame  or  fortune  in  the  balance  with  one 
smile  from  the  woman  he  had  learned  so  suddenly 
to  love?  His  whole  being  thrilled  with  keenest 
joy  as  he  felt  the  faint  clasp  of  her  hand,  and  his 
ears  drank  in  the  melody  of  her  voice. 

"  Papa  was  saying  at  dinner  that  the  market 
had  taken  a  decided  turn,  and  that  he  thought  you 
would  call  this  evening,"  said  Jessie.  "He  felt  so 

334 


ON          THIN          ICE 

certain  of  it  that  we  postponed  a  theatre  party. 
You  are  to  be  congratulated,  papa,  on  your  intui- 
tion." 

"  I  am  the  one  to  be  congratulated, "said  Blake, 
with  a  smile  and  a  bow,  "  but  I  should  preface  my 
self-felicitations  with  an  apology  for  the  informality 
of  my  call.  If  General  Garden  will  stand  sponsor 
for  my  plea  that  business  exigencies  cover  a  multi- 
tude of  social  improprieties,  I  may  hope  for  for- 
giveness ;  and,  if  forgiven,  I  warn  you  that  I  shall 
commit  the  offense  again!" 

A  delicate  flush  suffused  Jessie's  face  and 
brightened  the  radiance  of  her  eyes. 

"You  will  never  become  an  outcast  by  such 
transgressions,"  she  laughed.  "  I  will  leave  you  and 
papa  to  your  business  plottings.  Edith  is  here,  and 
when  you  have  ended  your  serious  affairs  perhaps 
you  will  join  us  and  we  can  have  music  or  cards." 

Blake's  face  glowed  with  a  pleasure  no  formal 
words  could  conceal. 

"  Our  business  will  be  ended  in  a  minute,"  he 
said.  "I  know  the  general  has  not  forgotten  the 
defeat  we  administered  to  him  the  other  evening, 
and  as  an  old  soldier  I  fancy  he  is  eager  to  wipe  out 
his  repulse  with  a  victory." 

"  He  certainly  is,"  asserted  General  Garden. 
"  I'm  so  sure  of  winning  to-night  that  on  behalf  of 
Edith  I  challenge  you  and  Jessie  to  a  rubber  of 
whist,  with  a  box  to-morrow  evening  for  Booth's 
production  of  'A  Fool's  Revenge'  as  a  wager!  " 


JOHN  BURT 

"  Done  ! "  exclaimed  Blake. 

"  I  warn  you  that  papa  generally  wins  when 
something  is  at  stake,"  said  Jessie,  "but  I'll  do  the 
best  I  can,  and  hope  for  good  luck  to  offset  my  poor 
playing." 

She  excused  herself,  and  Blake  and  General 
Garden  plunged  into  stock  technicalities. 

"  I  wished  you  to  know  the  cause  of  to-day's 
advance  in  L.  &  O.,"  explained  Blake.  "  For  rea- 
sons you  surmise,  I  am  picking  up  blocks  of  this 
stock.  It  will  go  higher  to-morrow,  and  then  a 
slump  may  follow,  but  you  need  not  worry  whether 
it  advances  or  declines.  I  have  the  market  under 
control.  From  present  indications  you  will  be 
called  on  to  exercise  your  option  inside  of  ten  days." 

"  I  have  confidence  in  your  judgment  and  you 
can  rely  on  prompt  execution  of  your  instructions," 
said  General  Garden.  "For  twenty  years  I  have 
been  identified  with  Wall  Street,  and  I  understand  its 
ethics.  In  this  campaign  you  are  the  general.  You 
will  find  me  a  loyal  aide." 

There  was  more  talk,  but  since  Blake  had 
nothing  of  importance  to  disclose,  the  conference 
soon  ended. 

Blake  was  triumphantly  satisfied  with  his  pro- 
gress. He  rightly  interpreted  General  Garden's 
suggestion  of  a  theatre  party  as  a  tacit  permission 
to  pay  his  addresses  to  Jessie  Garden.  Later  in  the 
evening,  through  a  chance  remark  by  Miss  Hancock, 
he  learned  that  they  had  declined  a  theatre  invita- 
336 


ON          THIN          ICE 

tion  from  Arthur  Morris.  He  no  longer  had  the 
slightest  fear  of  Morris.  He  felt  sure  of  the  con- 
sent and  even  the  support  of  General  Garden  in  his 
suit  for  the  hand  of  his  daughter. 

The  whist  game  was  closely  contested,  but  as 
Jessie  had  predicted  the  general  and  Edith  won  a 
hard-fought  victory,  and  Blake  agreed  to  pay  the 
wager  the  evening  following. 

They  strolled  into  the  conservatory.  For  the 
first  time  he  was  alone  with  Jessie  Garden,  and  a 
sense  of  exalted  happiness  surged  over  him. 

How  dainty  she  looked  in  this  bower  of  palms 
and  flowers !  The  graceful  Naiad,  whose  beautifully 
chiseled  form  was  half  revealed  in  the  splashing 
waters  of  the  fountain,  seemed  gross  and  material 
compared  to  the  rare  being  by  his  side.  Already 
he  tasted  that  bliss  which  comes  with  a  sense  of 
ownership ;  the  proud  satiety  of  possession.  Surely 
fate  had  decreed  that  she  should  be  his ! 

Only  by  an  effort  did  he  restrain  himself  from 
making  an  avowal  of  his  passion.  To  James  Blake 
nature  had  been  lavish  with  impulse  and  niggardly 
with  self-control.  All  of  the  good  and  all  of  the 
evil  in  his  being  responded  to  the  command  of  his 
desires.  He  had  no  brake  to  apply  its  stern  fric- 
tion to  the  wild  speed  of  his  longings.  Like  a  child 
he  reached  out  for  that  which  attracted  him,  and  like 
a  child  he  had  been  punished  for  his  temerity. 

Blake  had  formulated  no  plan  of  campaign  for 
the  conquest  of  Jessie  Garden,  The  light  of  her 

3J7 


JOHN  BURT 

eyes  and  the  radiance  of  her  beauty  were  to  him  as 
ignes  fatut,  and  drew  him  onward  at  a  dizzy  pace. 

He  talked  of  California  and  of  Rocky  Woods, 
but  his  eyes  spoke  love  and  his  deep  rich  voice  was 
tender.  Fair  woman  is  seldom  blind  to  the  spell 
cast  by  her  charms,  and  it  is  probable  that  Jessie 
was  aware  of  Blake's  admiration ;  but  she  neither 
recognized  nor  took  advantage  of  it.  He  was  too 
good  a  judge  of  the  heart  of  a  woman  to  mistake 
her  polite  interest  for  any  stronger  sentiment. 
He  stood  demanding  entrance  to  the  outer  gate  of 
friendship,  when  he  longed  to  storm  the  inner  halls 
of  love. 

In  war  Blake  would  have  been  a  cavalry  leader, 
recklessly  urging  his  forces  into  the  enemy's  coun- 
try, risking  all  upon  a  headlong  charge.  In  love  he 
was  a  desperado,  inspired  by  a  gambler's  faith  in 
fortune.  Though  he  knew  that  the  odds  were  over- 
whelmingly against  him,  and  that  one  false  step 
meant  irretrievable  defeat,  he  shut  his  eyes  to  the 
perils  which  encompassed  him. 

He  knew  the  risk  he  ran  in  appearing  in 
public  with  Jessie  Garden,  but  he  did  not  hesitate 
to  secure  a  box  for  the  Booth  performance.  Had 
he  not  already  passed  unscathed  through  Sam 
Rounds's  disclosure  ?  That  was  an  awful  moment, 
and  the  blood  left  his  face  whenever  he  thought  of 
it.  but  he  argued  the  outcome  as  a  favorable  omen. 
He  knew  John's  habits  so  well  that  he  had  little 
fear  their  paths  would  cross  in  the  great  city.  John 

33* 


ON          THIN          ICE 

lived  in  his  office  or  in  his  secluded  up-town  apart- 
ments, and  Blake  had  attempted  in  vain  to  induce 
his  partner  to  taste  the  pleasures  of  the  metropolis. 

"  Not  yet,  Jim,"  he  would  say.  "  I've  been  a  re- 
cluse for  five  years  and  can  wait  a  few  weeks,  or 
even  months,  longer.  But  I've  not  lost  my  desire 
for  enjoyment.  On  the  contrary,  I've  stored  it 
away  as  a  miser  hoards  gold,  and  I  propose  to  exact 
full  payment  from  the  world  of  frivolity  when  the 
time  comes.  I  may  be  a  bit  dull  when  I  first  cast 
off  my  prison  garb,  and  it's  likely  I'll  be  awkward, 
but  you  shall  be  my  guide  and  mentor." 

There  were  four  in  the  theatre  party — the  gen- 
eral and  Edith,  Blake  and  Jessie  Garden.  Blake 
escorted  Jessie  to  the  front  of  the  box  and  took 
his  place  by  her  side.  The  peerless  Booth  was  at 
the  height  of  his  power,  and  a  brilliant  audience 
had  assembled  to  do  him  honor.  The  vast  audito- 
rium was  a  mass  of  color.  The  boxes  were  thronged 
with  fair  women,  but  all  eyes  were  turned  on  Jessie 
Garden  and  her  handsome  escort.  She  had  been 
absent  from  New  York  for  two  years,  and  only  a 
few  recognized  her  as  the  niece  of  Thomas  Bishop, 
and  as  one  whose  debut  had  been  a  society  sensa- 
tion. 

James  Blake  was  even  less  known,  though  his 
name  had  been  made  familiar  by  the  fame  of  Wall 
Street  achievements  with  which  he  was  publicly 
identified.  Scattered  through  the  audience  were 
a  score  or  more  of  men  who  knew  Blake  as  a  club 

339 


JOHN  BURT 

member  or  as  an  operator.  By  whispered  word 
and  polite  inquiry  the  information  spread  until  all 
in  the  gilded  circle  knew  the  names  of  the  hand- 
some couple. 

The  first  act  was  nearly  over  when  a  thick-set 
young  man,  with  a  soft,  florid  face,  sauntered  into 
the  box  directly  across  the  orchestra  from  Blake 
and  Jessie.  Both  recognized  the  new  comer  as 
Arthur  Morris,  and  both  felt  a  secret  joy  that  he 
was  present.  His  name  had  never  been  mentioned 
between  them,  nor  was  Jessie  aware  that  Blake  was 
acquainted  with  the  young  banker  who  had  forced 
himself  into  her  life. 

Like  a  flash  the  thought  came  to  Blake  that,  by 
means  of  his  rival,  he  could  enhance  the  chances  of 
a  speedy  success  with  the  woman  by  his  side.  In  a 
dim  way  this  possibility  had  occurred  to  him  before, 
but  now  that  Morris  was  where  he  could  hurl  a 
glove  as  a  challenge  at  his  feet,  Blake  welcomed 
the  incident,  and  saw  in  it  boundless  possibilities 
for  good  fortune. 

"  Do  you  notice  the  gentleman  sitting  alone  in 
the  box  opposite?"  asked  Blake  as  the  curtain  fell. 

u  Yes,"  answered  Jessie,  raising  her  eyes  and 
looking  at  Blake  with  a  puzzled  smile.  "Why  do 
you  ask  ?  " 

"  That's  Arthur  Morris,  the  banker." 

"  Do  you  know  him  ?  " 

"  I've  met  him  in  a  business  way  and  also 
socially,"  replied  Bl«tke,  carelessly.  "  We  belong  to 
340 


ON          THIN          ICE 

the  same  clubs,  and  I've  been  his  guest.  Would 
you  like  to  meet  him  ?  " 

"  I  shall  be  delighted  !  "  exclaimed  Jessie,  who 
could  not  resist  the  temptation. 

At  that  instant  Morris  directed  his  opera- 
glass  for  the  first  time  at  the  Blake  box.  The 
smile  of  joy  when  he  recognized  Jessie  turned  to 
one  of  blank  amazement  when  he  saw  James  Blake. 
Jessie  conveniently  looked  in  another  direction. 
Edith  touched  her  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Do  you  see  Mr.  Morris?  "  she  whispered. 

"Mr.  Blake  is  going  to  call  him  over  and  intro- 
duce Mm,"  returned  Jessie,  with  a  warning  finger  to 
her  lips.  "  If  you  laugh,  Edith,  I  shall  never  speak 
to  you  again.  This  will  be  my  third,  and  I  trust 
my  last  introduction  to  him.  Ah,  he  is  coming  I  I 
hope  papa  will  not  spoil  the  treat." 

In  response  to  Blake's  signal  the  dazed  Morris 
was  picking  his  way  through  the  crush.  Blake  led 
Jessie  to  the  rear  of  the  box,  where  General  Car- 
den  was  chatting  with  a  number  of  old  friends. 

"  Miss  Garden,  permit  me  to  present  my  friend, 
Mr.  Arthur  Morris." 

Jessie  smiled  and  offered  her  hand. 

"  I'm  glad  to  meet  any  friend  of  Mr.  Blake's," 
she  said. 

"By  Jove,  old  man,  this  is  a  joke  on  you, 
or  me — or  both  of  us ! "  stammered  Morris. 
"Charmed  to  meet  you  again,  Miss  Garden!  Ah, 
Miss  Hancock,  you  are  looking  more  lovely  than 

34* 


JOHN  BURT 

ever!  How  are  you,  General  Garden?  This  is  a 
good  one  on  you,  Blake!  I've  been  acquainted 
with  Miss  Garden  for  years — five  years,  is  it  not, 
Miss  Garden?" 

Jessie's  laughing  eyes  admitted  the  truth  and 
Blake  looked  properly  confused. 

"I  shall  have  to  forgive  you,"  Blake  said  to 
Jessie,  "  but  you  are  taking  an  unfair  advantage  of  a 
wild  Westerner." 

Morris  looked  from  Blake  to  Jessie,  but  no 
solution  of  the  puzzle  offered  itself  either  in  the 
dark  eyes  of  his  rival  or  in  the  amused  glance  of  the 
other.  The  situation  was  particularly  embarrassing 
to  General  Garden,  and  he  glanced  appealingly 
into  the  face  of  his  daughter,  who  seemed  not 
in  the  least  dismayed  by  this  unexpected  complica- 
tion. 

"  You  have  the  reputation  of  being  lucky,"  said 
Morris,  laying  his  hand  familiarly  on  Blake's  shoul- 
der, "  but  I  didn't  know  that  your  good  fortune 
extended  to  an  acquaintance  with  Miss  Garden." 

There  was  a  shade  of  insolence  in  his  tone,  and 
an  air  which  did  not  escape  any  of  his  three  listeners. 
It  hinted  that  he  was  General  Garden's  employer; 
that  the  latter  was  under  obligations  to  him,  and  that 
Jessie  was  pledged  to  pay  the  debt.  But  Blake  was 
a  good  actor  in  the  little  comedy  between  the  acts. 
He  held  the  key  to  the  solution.  Of  all  the  figures 
in  this  complicated  drama,  he  alone  knew  the 
motives  which  influenced  the  other  players. 
342 


ON          THIN          ICE 

"  I  might  say  the  same  to  you,  my  dear  Morris," 
said  Blake  with  airy  confidence.  "  Had  you  taken 
me  into  your  confidence  sufficiently  to  mention  Miss 
Garden's  name,  I  would  have  told  you  of  what  you 
rightly  call  my  good  fortune.  Were  it  in  good  form 
I  would  willingly  wager  a  supper  that  I  met  Miss 
Garden  before  you  did.  Have  I  your  permission, 
Miss  Garden,  to  challenge  Mr.  Morris  to  such  a 
wager?" 

"  You  have,"  laughed  Jessie. 

General  Garden's  face  was  a  study,  but  Morris 
was  too  dumbfounded  to  notice  it.  Blake's  words 
had  reminded  him  of  the  night  he  first  met  the 
young  magnate  from  California.  He  recalled  Blake's 
study  of  the  portrait,  and  his  assertion  that  he  had 
met  Jessie  Garden  in  Rocky  Woods.  He  then  had 
no  reason  to  doubt  Blake's  word,  but  now  he  dared 
not  admit  it.  He  had  only  one  card  to  play. 

"I  accept  your  wager,"  he  said. 

"  When  I  was  a  boy  I  lived  in  Rocky  Woods," 
began  Blake.  "  Miss  Garden  probably  has  told  you 
that  she  spent  the  summers  with  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Bishop,  who  still  have  a  country  place  near  there. 
That  was — let's  see— seven  or  eight  years  ago. 
Miss  Garden  was  then  a  little  girl,  but  I  remember 
her  distinctly.  After  my  streak  of  luck  in  California 
I  visited  Rocky  Woods  but  found  none  of  my  old 
acquaintances.  I  learned,  however,  that  the  general 
and  Miss  Garden  were  living  in  New  York,  and  at 
the  earliest  opportunity  I  took  advantage  of  the 

34S 


JOHN  BURT 

slight  acquaintance  I  had  formed  when  a  very  young 
man.  That's  all.  If  you  demand  evidence,  I  have 
not  the  slightest  doubt  that  Miss  Garden  or  the 
general  will  furnish  it." 

To  Jessie's  amusement  and  General  Garden's 
relief  Morris  declared  that  he  did  not  doubt  Blake's 
word.  There  was  that  in  the  latter's  manner  which 
warned  Morris  not  to  insist  on  fuller  details.  Though 
he  knew  full  well  that  Blake  had  boldly  installed 
himself  as  a  rival  by  some  method  beyond  his  ken, 
he  was  too  politic  to  press  the  subject  without  being 
sure  of  his  ground.  The  fires  of  jealousy  burned 
fiercely  in  him,  but  he  concealed  his  rage.  From 
that  moment  he  hated  Blake  with  all  the  malevolence 
of  a  vicious  nature,  but  he  turned  with  a  smile  on 
his  sensuous  lips. 

"I  admit  myself  done,  old  chap,"  he  declared. 
"  We  shall  have  a  jolly  dinner  in  honor  of  my  de- 
feat. Say  Tuesday,  at  Sherry's?  Will  that  be  con- 
venient, Miss  Garden?  Good!  And  you,  Miss 
Hancock  ?  Splendid  !  We  shall  expect  you,  Gen- 
eral Garden.  There  goes  the  curtain." 

Morris  smiled  gaily  and  excused  himself,  and 
Blake  and  Jessie  resumed  their  places. 

"  You  have  a  wonderful  memory,  Mr.  Blake," 
said  Jessie,  behind  her  fan.  "  I  could  not  help 
thinking,  while  you  were  enlightening  Mr.  Morris, 
that  perhaps  you  had  unconsciously  confused  your 
Rocky  Mountain  career  with  that  of  your  boyhood 
friend,  John  Burt." 

344 


ON          THIN          ICE 

The  smile  on  Blake's  lips  died  and  the  color 
mounted  to  his  temples. 

"  Perhaps— perhaps  I  did,"  he  said,  after  an 
awkward  pause.  A  thousand  thoughts  and  fears 
came  to  him.  He  dared  not  lift  his  eyes  for  fear 
of  encountering  the  gaze  of  the  man  he  had 
wronged.  The  voices  on  the  stage  sounded  far 
away.  Jessie's  innocent  words :  "  your  boyhood 
friend,  John  Burt,"  had  hurled  him  for  the  moment 
from  the  heaven  of  bliss  to  the  nadir  of  remorse. 
Opportunely  for  his  confusion,  Edith  called  Jessie's 
attention  to  some  trifling  matter,  and  in  the  interval 
he  regained  his  composure. 

"  I  hardly  knew  what  to  say  to  Mr.  Morris," 
he  explained  hurriedly.  "It's  most  embarrassing 
that  he  should  happen  to  be  here  to-night.  I'll  tell 
you  some  time  why  I  said  what  I  did.  I  believe  I 
succeeded  in  diverting  all  suspicion  that  the  general 
and  I  have  business  relations,  but  it's  a  shame  that 
you  should  be  used  as  a  shield.  In  my  clumsy  way 
I  was  trying  to  protect  your  father's  interests,  and 
I  hope  you'll  accept  that  as  my  excuse." 

"  I  think  I  understand,"  returned  Jessie.  "  Pray 
do  not  disturb  yourself  on  account  of  this  inci- 
dent, Mr.  Blake.  I'm  sure  I  shall  not.  Here 
comes  Mr.  Booth  !  Isn't  he  grand  I" 

The  play  ended,  and  Arthur  Morris  again 
joined  the  Blake  party  as  they  waited  for  the  crowd 
to  leave.  He  declined  Blake's  invitation  to  supper, 
pleading  a  previous  engagement. 

345 


JOHN  BURT 

"  I'm  chaperoning  the  governor,"  he  laughed, 
pointing  to  his  father,  whose  ponderous  bulk 
blocked  an  adjacent  aisle.  "  By  the  way,  Blake,  did 
you  follow  my  tip  on  L.  &  O.  ?  Bought  a  little, 
did  you?  That's  right;  keep  on  buying  it.  It's 
going  up,  as  I  said  it  would.  You  needn't  be  afraid 
of  it.  It's  good  for  ten  points  in  the  next  ten 
days.  Well,  good-night.  Don't  forget  our  little 
dinner  party  on  Tuesday  evening." 


34* 


CHAPTER         THIRTY-ONE 

THE  MANTLE  OF  CHARITY 

IT  was  late  on  Sunday  morning  when  Blake 
awoke.  For  years  he  and  John  had  dined  at 

four  o'clock  on  Sundays,  and  they  had  con- 
tinued the  custom  in  New  York.  Blake  looked 
forward  to  what  had  ever  been  a  pleasure,  with  an 
aversion  not  unmixed  with  fear. 

The  preceding  evening  had  been  a  season  of 
unalloyed  happiness.  Jessie  had  been  most  gra- 
cious. He  had  monopolized  her  attention  during 
the  supper,  and  from  numberless  little  incidents  he 
argued  that  he  was  in  her  good  favor.  She  had  not 
taken  offense  at  his  thinly-veiled  compliments,  and 
she  looked  surpassingly  lovely  as  the  faint  flush  of 
pleased  confusion  suffused  her  face.  General  Car- 
den  had  clasped  his  hand  and  congratulated  him  on 
his  "diplomacy"  in  answering  Morris's  pointed 
question. 

He  rang  a  bell  and  his  valet  responded. 

"Mr.  Burton  will  dine  with  me  at  four 
o'clock,"  he  said.  "  Until  he  leaves  I'm  not  home 
to  any  one.  Make  no  mistake  about  this,  Roberts. 
Prepare  my  bath,  and  let  me  have  the  morning 
papers.  I  want  a  light  breakfast." 

Blake  carelessly  glanced  over  a  newspaper. 
His  attention  was  held  for  a  few  minutes  by  such 
events  as  a  society  scandal,  a  Brooklyn  fire,  an 
atrocious  Chicago  murder,  and  a  threatened  rail- 
road strike.  With  a  yawn  he  was  about  to  lay  the 


JOHN  BURT 

paper  aside,  when  he  noticed  a  headline  descrip- 
tive of  the  Booth  performance  of  the  preceding 
evening. 

It  is  one  of  the  secrets  of  newspaperdom  that 
the  average  subscriber  loves  to  read  of  that  he  has 
seen,  rather  than  of  events  beyond  his  range  of 
vision.  Since  Blake  knew  all  about  the  Booth  per- 
formance, he  was  keenly  interested  in  studying  the 
published  account  of  it.  It  was  a  long  article,  but 
Blake  was  so  engrossed  in  its  reading  that  he  paid 
no  attention  to  the  valet's  announcement  that  his 
bath  was  ready. 

To  the  abject  astonishment  of  that  trained  and 
sedate  servant,  Blake  gave  a  cry  of  terror  and 
sprang  from  his  couch,  upsetting  a  small  table  as  he 
rushed  towards  the  window. 

He  held  the  paper  with  a  clutch  as  if  it  were 
a  serpent  struggling  to  bury  its  fangs  in  his  breast. 
In  the  full  flood  of  light  he  again  read  a  paragraph 
which  had  frozen  the  blood  in  his  veins.  It  was  as 
follows : 

"Among  the  box-holders  at  this  notable  performance 
was  James  Blake,  the  famous  Wall  Street  operator  and 
financier,  whose  recent  advent  in  New  York  was  signal- 
ized by  a  market  movement  not  yet  forgotten.  Mr. 
Blake's  guests  were  General  Marshall  Garden,  Miss  Jessie 
Garden  and  Miss  Edith  Hancock,  of  Cohasset,  Massa- 
chusetts. Miss  Garden  returned  a  week  ago,  from  a 
two-years'  sojourn  abroad,  where  her  musical  and  artis- 
tic talents  attracted  nearly  as  much  attention  as  her 
rare  beauty.  Mr.  Arthur  Morris  was  a  frequent  visi- 
tor to  the  Blake  box.  Gossip  has  been  busy  in  associ- 
ating his  name  with  that  of  Miss  Garden  as  an  accepted 
suitor,  but  the  rumor  may  bt  authoritatively  denied." 


THE     MANTLE     OF    CHARITY 

"My  God!  this  is  awful— awful— awful  I " 
groaned  Blake.  "Get  out  of  here!"  he  shouted 
to  his  man.  "  What  the  devil  do  you  mean,  stand- 
ing there  gaping  at  me?  Bring  me  a  glass  of 
brandy,  and  be  quick  about  it! " 

He  hurled  the  paper  from  him  and  sank  back 
into  a  chair. 

The  door  bell  rang,  and  at  the  sound  every 
nerve  tingled  with  terror.  Was  it  John  Burt? 
James  Blake  was  not  a  coward — as  he  had  proved 
a  score  of  times  when  his  mettle  was  put  to  the 
test — but  from  the  moment  he  went  down  to  defeat 
beneath  sturdy  blows  he  had  respected  his  boyhood 
conqueror.  Since  that  hour  John  Burt  had  won  his 
allegiance  in  a  thousand  ways — had  shown  himself 
the  master  mind  on  unnumbered  fields.  And  in 
this  moment,  cowed  by  the  scourging  of  a  guilty 
conscience,  he  could  not  invoke  a  bravado  to  take 
the  place  of  courage. 

The  valet  opened  the  door  and  Blake  heard  the 
piping  voice  of  a  telegraph  messenger.  He  drew  a 
long  breath  and  tore  open  the  envelope.  The  mes- 
sage was  from  John  Hawkins,  and  stated  that  he 
would  arrive  in  New  York  on  the  following  morning. 

The  little  clock  spasmodically  jingled  the  hour 
of  noon.  In  four  short  hours  he  would  face  John 
Burt !  He  drank  the  brandy  at  a  gulp,  and  plunged 
into  a  cool  bath.  Its  cool  waters  did  not  bring  their 
wonted  exhilaration.  He  glared  at  the  tempting 
breakfast,  but  could  not  taste  it. 

349 


JOHN  BURT 

"Take  that  stuff  away  and  bring  me  more 
brandy,"  he  ordered. 

Again  he  read  the  dreaded  paragraph.  It  had 
a  fascination  he  could  not  resist.  His  first  impulse 
had  been  flight,  but  the  two  portions  of  liquor  were 
not  without  effect. 

"  Perhaps  John  won't  see  it,"  he  reflected.  "  I 
don't  believe  he  pays  any  attention  to  theatrical 
news.  He  has  often  said  that  he  has  no  time  to 
wade  through  the  gossip  and  tittle-tattle  of  a  New 
York  paper.  There's  no  one  to  call  his  notice  to  that 
paragraph.  Yes  there  is — Sam  Rounds !  Well, 
that's  a  thousand  to  one  shot.  I  wonder  if  it  was  in 
any  other  papers?" 

He  sent  for  all  the  Sunday  journals  and  eagerly 
scanned  them  for  mention  of  the  theatre  party,  but 
to  his  great  relief  found  that  it  appeared  only  in 
the  one  paper.  Again  he  helped  himself  to  the 
brandy. 

"  Come  to  think  of  it,  John  don't  read  that 
cursed  paper  1 "  he  exclaimed  half  aloud.  "  It's  only 
an  accident  that  I  happened  to  see  it.  If  I  hadn't 
been  there  last  night  I  never  would  have  glanced 
below  the  headline.  What  chance  is  there  for  John 
to  see  it?  Not  one  in  a  million  I  " 

He  paced  up  and  down  the  room,  and  paused 
to  survey  his  reflection  in  a  mirror.  His  face  was 
drawn,  and  dark  circles  showed  under  his  eyes. 
The  decanter  was  his  only  friend.  The  grave  face 
of  the  valet  did  not  disclose  the  astonishment  he 
35° 


THE     MANTLE     OF    CHARITY 

felt  over  the  conduct  of  his  employer.  Blake  was 
almost  abstemious  in  his  habits,  and  his  sideboard 
was  more  of  an  ornament  than  a  utility.  In  this  he 
had  wisely  patterned  himself  after  John  Burt. 

"Shall  I  serve  breakfast  now,  sir?"  asked 
Roberts. 

Blake  answered  with  a  sullen  negative  and  tossed 
off  his  fourth  brandy.  It  sounded  a  new  note  in 
the  scale  of  stimulation. 

"  I  don't  see  why  I  should  go  into  such  a  beastly 
funk  over  this  affair ! "  he  muttered.  "  It's  no  crime 
to  be  in  love  with  a  woman.  She  doesn't  belong  to 
him.  They're  not  even  engaged.  Suppose  he  does 
love  her?  So  do  I.  What  if  he  did  meet  her  first? 
A  woman  is  not  something  to  be  discovered  and  pre- 
empted like  a  gold  mine." 

As  the  hours  sped  by  and  the  dark  red  line  in 
the  decanter  dropped  lower  and  lower,  Blake's 
courage  aroused  to  such  a  pitch  that  he  welcomed 
the  coming  of  John  Burt. 

"  By  God>  we'll  settle  this  matter  now  and  here  I" 
he  exclaimed  as  he  lurched  unsteadily  about  the 
room.  "John  Burt  nor  any  other  man  shall  stand 
between  me  and  Jessie  Garden !  I'll  show  him  the 
paper  and  ask  him  what  he's  going  to  do  about  it! 
He's  lorded  it  over  me  long  enough!  Let  him 
come  on!  I'll  meet  him  face  to  face !  I'll — " 

The  hall  bell  rang  with  that  clear  precision 
which  comes  from  the  pressure  of  an  insistent  hand. 
At  the  same  instant  the  little  clock  hammered  the 


JOHN  BURT 

hour  of  four.  The  valet  opened  the  door  and  John 
Burt  entered. 

For  a  moment  Blake  did  not  recognize  him. 
The  moustache  and  beard  had  disappeared,  and 
the  strong  regular  lines  of  John  Burt's  face  were 
in  perfect  harmony  with  the  keen,  calm  and  discern- 
ing eyes. 

The  contrast  between  the  two  men  was  startling. 
John  Burt,  erect,  self-possessed,  faultlessly  ap- 
parelled, and  invigorated  by  a  brisk  three  mile  walk ; 
James  Blake,  disheveled,  distraught,  and  on  the 
verge  of  a  physical  collapse. 

Once  again  in  the  presence  of  John  Burt  and 
under  the  glance  of  those  commanding  eyes,  the 
brute  courage  inspired  by  liquor  evaporated.  He 
looked  into  John's  face  with  a  sickly  grin,  but  no 
words  came  to  his  lips. 

"Hello,  Jim;  what's  the  matter  with  you?" 

There  was  a  cordial  note  in  John's  voice  and 
sympathy  in  his  face.  Blake's  eyes  and  faculties 
were  blurred,  but  he  felt  that  his  friend  harbored 
neither  suspicion  nor  malice.  A  sense  of  relief  came 
to  him,  but  in  the  consequent  mental  reaction  the 
brandy  was  all  potent. 

"M'all  right,  John,  ol'  fellow;  m'all  right! 
Glad  to  see  ye,  dear  ol'  John  I  Have  a  drink,  John ! 
Glad  to  see  ye !  " 

He  swayed  and  fell  into  John  Burt's  arms.  His 
flushed  face  and  reeking  breath  told  their  own  story 
without  the  help  of  the  emptied  decanter.  Blake 


THE     MANTLE     OF    CHARITY 

weighed  two  hundred  pounds,  but  John  picked 
him  up  and  laid  him  on  the  couch  as  if  he  were  a 
child. 

"You're  knocked  out,  Jim,"  he  said.  "Take 
a  nap,  old  man,  and  you'll  be  all  right  when  you 
wake  up." 

With  a  dull  smile  on  his  lips  Blake  sank  into  a 
deep  slumber. 

The  minute  hand  of  the  little  clock  crawled  half 
its  way  around  the  circle  before  John  Burt  left  the 
side  of  his  friend.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
motionless  figure,  but  his  thoughts  wandered  far 
away. 

John  Burt  knew  as  positively  as  one  can  know 
without  ocular  or  visual  proof  that  Blake  was  har- 
boring a  secret  which  was  of  vital  concern  to  both 
of  them.  He  did  not  need  this  new  incident  to 
strengthen  the  evidence  furnished  by  his  intuition. 
He  had  not  been  deceived  by  Blake's  careless  man- 
ner during  the  forty-eight  hours  which  had  passed. 

But  what  was  the  secret  ?  What  had  arisen  to 
strike  a  jangling  note  in  the  harmony  of  their  friend- 
ship ?  What  motive  could  Blake  have  for  mystery 
or  evasion?  Was  he  piqued  or  jealous  that  the  hour 
was  near  when  the  world  would  know  that  another 
was  the  commanding  genius  of  the  firm  of  James 
Blake  &  Company  ? 

This  latter  question  answered  itself.  John  Burt 
knew  that  Blake  was  unselfish  in  such  matters,  and 
that  he  eagerly  looked  forward  to  the  day  when  his 

353 


JOHN  BURT 

unearned  fame  would  fall  on  another.  He  must 
seek  a  motive  elsewhere.  Was  Blake  in  love  ?  That 
was  a  possibility,  but  why  should  he  make  a  secret 
of  his  love  affairs  at  that  late  day?  What  woman 
could  come  between  them?  Only  one  in  all  the 
world. 

The  thought  of  Jessie  Garden  in  this  connection 
was  so  grotesque  that  John  attempted  to  dismiss  it, 
but  despite  all  efforts  the  figure  of  the  woman  he 
loved  constantly  arose  before  him,  associated  in  a 
vague  way  with  Blake's  strange  conduct. 

Blake  groaned  and  muttered  in  his  sleep.  At 
first  his  words  were  incoherent,  but  as  his  excitement 
grew  his  voice  became  distinct,  and  in  a  higher  key 
he  exclaimed : 

"This  is  awful — awful  I  What  shall  I  do;  what 
shall  I  do?  I  love  her!  I  love  her,  and  no  one 
shall  stand  between  us;  no  one,  by  God  !  no  one,  not 
even — "  The  sentence  ended  in  a  moan  and  again 
he  sank  into  quiet  slumber. 

John  walked  across  the  room  and  gazed  for 
moments  from  out  the  opened  window.  It  was  a 
perfect  day  in  early  autumn,  but  he  felt  oppressed 
as  if  under  the  influence  of  a  deepening  shadow. 
He  glanced  over  Blake's  collection  of  books,  but 
saw  none  which  offered  diversion.  Pacing  up  and 
down  the  room  he  stepped  on  a  crumpled  news- 
paper. The  rustle  disturbed  him.  He  picked  it 
up,  glanced  carelessly  at  the  date  and  name  and  ran 
his  eye  over  the  oages. 

354 


THE     MANTLE     OF    CHARITY 

The  first  words  that  caught  his  attention  were 
"Miss  Jessie  Garden."  It  was  as  if  they  were 
illuminated.  John  Burt  stood  like  a  statue  and  read 
the  paragraph  which  had  thrown  Blake  into  a  frenzy 
of  fear. 

Every  word  burned  itself  into  his  brain.  In- 
stinctively he  drew  back  like  one  menaced  by  a  blow 
struck  in  the  dark.  Then  the  enormity  of  the  thing 
came  to  him.  Crushing  the  paper  in  his  hand,  he 
strode  across  the  room  and  towered  over  the  figure 
of  the  man  who  had  requited  years  of  friendship 
with  an  act  of  treachery. 

Blake's  face  was  turned  towards  him — the  hand- 
some, clear-cut  features  of  the  one  he  had  known 
since  boyhood.  His  breathing  was  as  deep  and 
regular  as  that  of  an  innocent  child.  The  lips  were 
slightly  parted  in  a  smile.  A  tumbled  lock  of  wavy 
hair  showed  black  against  the  pure  olive  of  his  brow. 
The  neck  was  white  and  bare,  and  seemed  to  invite 
the  clutch  of  strangling  fingers. 

For  an  instant  an  impulse  to  strike  this  man 
dead  in  his  sleep  came  to  John  Burt.  By  a  supreme 
effort  he  drew  away  from  the  couch  and  gazed  with 
horror  at  the  helpless  figure  of  the  one  he  had 
known  as  a  friend.  Then  a  flood  of  feeling  checked 
the  swelling  tide  of  his  rage. 

'     "  How  could  you  do  such  a  thing,  Jim  ?  "  he 
exclaimed,  unconsciously  aloud. 

A  deep  sigh  from  the  sleeper  was  the  only 
response.  It  breathed  of  helpless  sorrow  and  un- 

355 


JOHN  BURT 

availing  contrition.  John  Burt  turned  away  and 
gazed  with  flooded  eyes  at  the  dancing  sunlight. 

It  was  all  so  unreal  that  it  seemed  a  mockery. 
James  Blake  and  Jessie  Garden!  His  trusted  part- 
ner covertly  aspiring  to  the  love  of  the  woman  to 
whom  he  had  plighted  his  troth  I 

"  He  loves  her ! "  was  the  cry  that  sounded  in 
his  ears.  "He  has  met  her  and  has  concealed  the 
fact  from  me  I  He  has  come  to  me  with  lies  on 
his  lips  and  deceit  in  his  heart !  How  could  you  do 
it,  Jim;  how  dared  you  do  it?  While  I  have  been 
striving  to  make  her  happy,  you  have  been  false  to 
me  and  to  our  friendship.  He  loves  her.  Poor 
Jim;  poor  Jim!  She  must  be  very  beautiful.  She 
is  here  in  New  York,  not  a  mile  from  this  spot.  She 
knows  not  if  I  be  dead  or  alive.  Perhaps  he  has 
told  her  I  am  dead?" 

He  walked  noiselessly  up  and  down  the  room, 
racked  by  conflicting  emotions.  At  times  he  paused 
to  look  into  the  face  of  the  man  who  had  wronged 
and  tortured  him.  He  had  conquered  his  desire  to 
exact  immediate  vengeance  and  vainly  strove  to  find 
a  possible  excuse  for  Blake's  action.  It  was  useless. 

The  truth  stood  clearly  revealed.  Blake  had 
met  Jessie  Garden,  fallen  in  love  with  her,  and  de- 
ceived John  Burt.  Sam  Rounds  was  not  mis- 
taken. 

Never  for  a  moment  did  John  doubt  Jessie's 
constancy.  The  joy  of  knowing  that  she  was  again 
in  New  York,  and  the  certainty  that  he  soon  should 


THE     MANTLE     OF     CHARITY 

see  her,  was  turned  to  sorrow  by  the  disclosure 
which  had  been  made.  By  degrees  his  hatred  of 
Blake's  act  was  transformed  into  pity  for  the  one 
who  had  fallen  in  consequence  of  it.  Blake  was 
doomed  as  the  victim  of  his  weakness  and  folly. 

How  could  he  help  Blake  to  save  himself  be- 
fore it  was  irretrievably  too  late  ? 

John  Burt  knew  Blake  better  than  the  latter 
knew  himself.  He  read  Blake's  character  as  a  keen- 
eyed  man  scans  bold  type  in  the  broad  glare  of 
light.  He  detected  that  strain  of  weakness,  that 
lack  of  self-restraint,  which  made  the  other  power- 
less in  the  face  of  temptation.  He  marked  how 
the  threads  of  that  damning  fault  were  woven  into 
the  splendid  fabric  of  a  generous,  loving  nature. 
He  felt  that  Blake  was  no  more  to  blame  for  this 
defect  than  is  a  diamond  which  has  been  fused  in 
elemental  heat,  and  whose  one  blistered  flaw  mars 
its  brilliancy. 

Few  men  combine  resistless  tenacity  of  pur- 
pose with  charity  for  the  short-comings  of  others. 
Aggressive  men  rarely  pause  in  their  dizzy  climb 
to  consider,  much  less  to  condone,  that  weakness 
which  has  caused  others  to  fall. 

If  ever  a  time  existed  when  Blake  stood  in 
need  of  such  a  friend  as  John  Burt,  it  was  in  this 
hour  when  passion  had  triumphed  over  loyalty,  and 
when  outraged  conscience  scourged  him  with  a 
stinging  lash. 

For  hours  John  Burt  concentrated  his  mind  on 

357 


JOHN  BURT 

the  strange  problem  which  had  so  suddenly  arisen. 
Slowly  the  tangled  skein  unraveled  itself,  and  he 
thought  he  saw  his  way  clear.  At  times  a  wave  of 
anger  swept  over  him,  but  in  the  end  charity  won 
against  odds  which  seemed  overwhelming. 

He  resolved  not  to  make  himself  known  to 
Jessie  until  Blake  had  been  given  a  chance  to  re- 
trace his  steps.  This  delay  in  meeting  the  woman 
he  loved,  and  for  whom  he  had  labored  and  waited 
weary  years,  was  the  crowning  sacrifice,  but  when 
John  had  decided  upon  it,  a  sense  of  happiness 
stole  over  him.  Somehow  he  felt  that  Jessie  was  in 
sympathy  with  his  plans. 

It  was  dark  when  Blake  awoke  from  his  stupor. 
He  raised  himself  on  his  elbows  and  stared  wildly 
about  the  room  until  his  eyes  rested  on  John  Burt. 
His  sleep  had  been  harrowed  by  dreams,  and  in 
this  waking  moment  he  could  not  separate  the 
actual  from  the  unreal.  But  as  the  fog  burned 
away,  the  stern  facts  stood  clear  before  his  mental 
gaze,  and  he  groaned  aloud.  John  laid  aside  the 
book  he  had  made  a  pretense  of  reading. 

"  Do  you  feel  better,  Jim?"  he  asked,  as  Blake 
struggled  to  his  feet,  and  passed  his  hand  wearily 
across  his  eyes. 

"  I  think  so,"  looking  doubtfully  at  John.  "  I've 
been  making  an  ass  of  myself.  That's  not  a  diffi- 
cult task.  Did  I  say  or  do  anything  out  of  the  way?" 

"  Nothing  except  to  keep  me  waiting  several 
hours  for  my  dinner,"  replied  John.  There  was  no 


THE     MANTLE     OF     CHARITY 

shade  of  annoyance  or  suspicion  in  his  manner,  and 
Blake  felt  a  mingled  sensation  of  relief  and  remorse. 
Humbled  and  nerveless  he  had  an  impulse  to  con- 
fess all  and  plead  for  John's  forgiveness,  but  he 
lacked  the  strength  of  purpose. 

"  Take  a  cold  plunge,  and  while  you  are  dress- 
ing I'll  order  dinner,"  suggested  John. 

"  I  beg  pardon  for  this  foolishness  ! "  exclaimed 
Blake  looking  ruefully  first  at  John  and  then  at  the 
decanter.  "As  you  know,  I'm  not  given  to  drink- 
ing. I  felt  very  bad  this  morning  and  took  some 
brandy  on  an  empty  stomach.  It  went  to  my  head, 
and  that  fool  valet  of  mine  didn't  know  enough  to 
throw  the  cursed  stuff  out  of  the  window.  I've 
no  recollection  of  what  I  did  after  the  first  drink. 
Are  you  sure  I  said  nothing  to  offend  you,  John?" 

"  You  have  said  nothing  to  offend  me  since  that 
day  we  had  the  fight  near  the  creek  in  old  Rocky 
Woods,"  returned  John,  looking  Blake  frankly  in 
the  face.  The  latter's  eyes  dropped  in  confusion. 

"We'll  say  no  more  about  it,"  added  John. 
"Take  your  bath,  and  by  the  time  you  are  ready,  I 
will  see  that  Roberts  has  dinner  served." 

During  and  after  the  meal  John  led  the  con- 
versation back  over  the  years  they  had  spent  to- 
gether. Blake  was  strangely  silent.  As  a  rule  he 
took  the  lead  over  his  quiet  companion  on  such 
occasions,  but  this  evening  when  he  attempted  to 
join  in  the  conversation,  something  arose  in  his 
throat  and  choked  him. 

359 


CHAPTER         THIRTY-TWO 

HAWKINS        MAKES       A       DISCOVERY 

JOHN  HAWKINS  strode  into  the  office  of 
James  Blake  &  Company  at  an  early  hour  the 

following  Monday  morning,  and  after  greeting 
the  nominal  head  of  the  firm  was  shown  to  John 
Hurt's  room. 

"  Mighty  glad  to  see  you,  my  boy,"  his  deep 
voice  rumbled  as  he  laid  a  giant  palm  on  the  shoul- 
der of  the  younger  man.  "  Don't  think  I'd  have 
known  you  had  I  met  you  on  the  street.  When  did 
you  part  with  the  beard  and  moustache  ?  It  improves 
your  looks,  Burton.  You  stack  up  like  a  four  time 
winner! " 

"I'm  feeling  first-rate.  And  how  are  you, 
Hawkins?" 

"Never  was  better.  If  I  felt  finer  I'd  have  to 
take  medicine  for  it." 

He  laughed  with  a  roar  that  made  the  windows 
rattle,  and  then  extracted  an  enormous  black  cigar 
from  a  case  and  filled  the  room  with  clouds  of  fra- 
grant smoke.  The  tawny  beard  was  perhaps  a 
shade  more  grizzled  than  when  John  Burt  first  met 
him,  but  the  years  had  not  softened  the  lines  of  his 
figure  nor  bowed  the  massive  shoulders.  They 
talked  for  several  minutes  on  commonplace  topics. 
Mr.  Hawkins  studied  the  face  of  the  younger  with 
a  scrutiny  which  did  not  escape  John  Burt. 

"In  your  new  disguise — or  lack  of  disguise — 
you  strangely  remind  me  of  some  one,"  said  Mr. 
360 


Hawkins  suddenly.  "  I've  been  sitting  here  trying 
to  recall  who'n  the  devil  it  is.  You  told  me  once, 
as  I  remember,  that  you  were  born  in  Massachusetts, 
didn't  you  ?  " 

"  I  did,"  replied  John,  "  and  I  also  told  you 
that  Burton  was  not  my  right  name.  Now,  I'm 
going  to  tell  you  who  I  am,  though  you  must  guard 
my  secret  for  a  while  yet — a  short  while,  I  hope." 

"'John  Burton'  is  good  enough  for  me," 
asserted  the  magnate,  grimly.  "  It  don't  make  any 
difference  whether  your  name  is  Smith,  Jones  or 
Schwartzmeister ;  I  know  you're  all  right,  and  I'll 
bet  a  million  on  it.  Don't  tell  me,  my  boy,  if  you 
run  any  risk  by  doing  so." 

"There  is  no  reason  why  I  should  not  tell 
you,"  said  John,  after  a  moment's  pause.  "  If  any 
pretext  ever  existed  why  I  should  live  under  an 
alias,  it  has  passed  now.  Here's  an  advertisement 
I  recently  ran  across  in  a  San  Francisco  paper. 
Read  it." 

John  Hawkins  adjusted  his  glasses  and  read 
the  following : 

To  John  Burt,  of  Hingham,  Man. — All  rewards  of- 
fered for  your  arrest  by  Randolph  or  Arthur  Morris  are 
hereby  withdrawn,  and  you  are  exempt  from  prosecution 
at  our  hands. 

(Signed)  RANDOLPH  MORRIS, 

ARTHUR  MORRIS. 

John  Hawkins  read  it  slowly,  and  looked 
searchingly  into  the  face  of  the  young  man. 


JOHN  BURT 

"  So  your  name's  Burt?  Ever  have  a  relation 
by  the  name  of  Peter  Burt?" 

"My  grandfather's  name  is  Peter  Burt,"  re- 
plied John. 

"  Living  yet,  eh?     How  old  is  he  ?  " 

"  Nearly  ninety.  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me 
that  you  know  him?" 

"Was  he  a  whaling  captain?" 

"  He  was  captain  and  part  owner  of  the  whaler 
'Segregansett,' "  answered  John. 

Hawkins  vented  his  surprise  in  strange  exclama- 
tions, and  John  Burt  was  silent,  in  puzzled  amaze- 
ment. A  frown  spread  across  the  older  man's 
features,  but  the  stern  mouth  relaxed  into  a  smile, 
which  was  succeeded  by  a  hurricane  of  laughter. 

"  John  Burt,  grandson  to  old  Captain  Pete 
Burt !  This  is  too  rich !  My  boy,  there's  a  feud 
between  the  houses  of  Burt  and  Hawkins,  but  it 
shall  not  extend  to  your  generation.  We'll  bury  it 
right  now  I  This  is  Greek  to  you,  but  I'll  clear  it 
up.  Did  the  old  man  ever  mention  the  name  of 
Jack  Hawkins  to  you?" 

"  Never." 

"  I  suppose  not.  It  isn't  likely  he  would,"  and 
again  Mr.  Hawkins  seemed  vastly  amused.  "Well, 
I  was  his  first  mate  on  the  Segregansett.  Cap.  Burt 
was  nearly  sixty  years  old  then,  and  I  was  about 
twenty-six.  I  stood  six  feet  four  in  my  stockings, 
and,  without  a  pound  of  fat,  weighed  about  two 
hundred  and  forty.  There  was  an  idea  abroad  that 


HAWKINS    MAKES   A    DISCOVERY 

no  man  who  trod  a  deck  beneath  an  American  flag 
could  lick  Jack  Hawkins,  and,  barring  one  man,  I 
guess  they  had  the  facts  sized  up  about  right.  Your 
grandfather  was  perhaps  an  inch  shorter  than  I. 
Every  one  knew  that  he  was  a  tough  old  chap,  but 
I  was  a  youngster  and  not  afraid  of  my  weight  in 
hungry  wildcats,  and  it  never  occurred  to  me  that 
he  would  stand  a-  show  with  me  in  a  fight.  Do  you 
see  that  scar?" 

He  ran  his  fingers  through  the  iron-gray  locks 
and  pushed  them  back  from  his  forehead.  There 
showed  a  livid  mark,  with  four  black  circles. 

11  Those  round  black  marks  are  the  prints  of 
your  dear  old  grandfather's  knuckles,"  he  said,  let- 
ting the  hair  drop  back  into  place.  "  They've  been 
there  thirty  odd  years.  I'll  tell  you  how  it  hap- 
pened. Captain  Burt  was  a  very  religious  man,  ac- 
cording to  his  own  standards.  He  went  through 
the  decalogue  and  marked  off  some  of  the  com- 
mandments, and  had  the  others  printed  in  large 
letters.  He  was  dead  set  against  swearing,  but 
broadminded  in  his  views  on  murder.  He  wouldn't 
tackle  a  sperm  whale  if  he  blowed  on  Sunday,  but 
when  he  went  ashore,  after  a  long  cruise,  the  way  he 
smashed  some  of  the  last  commandments  was  a  cau- 
tion. But  as  I  said,  he  was  particularly  down  on 
swearing.  A  cuss  word  drove  him  crazy,  and  I've 
seen  him  pound  a  man  nearly  to  death  for  a  harm- 
less '  damn.'  It  got  so  that  the  men  would  detail 
one  of  their  number  to  keep  watch  on  the  old  man, 

36j 


JOHN  BURT 

while  the  others  cussed  softly  in  their  bunks.  Sail- 
ors have  a  hard  life,  and  swearing  is  one  of  their  few 
luxuries." 

"We  had  a  sailor  named  Bilson,"  continued 
Mr.  Hawkins.  "  He  was  one  of  those  clumsy, 
aggravating  fools  whose  very  looks  were  an  incen- 
tive to  profanity.  It  came  on  to  blow  one  night 
and  I  sent  Bilson  aloft.  He  managed  to  foul  the 
fore-royal  clew  lines,  and  when  I  yelled  at  him  he 
laughed  in  his  idiotic  way,  and  I  was  boiling  mad 
all  over.  I  said  some  things  to  him  that  wouldn't 
go  in  print.  While  I  was  relieving  my  mind  I  felt 
a  hand  on  my  shoulder,  and  it  wasn't  a  gentle  one, 
either. 

" '  Not  another  word  from  your  blasphemous 
mouth,  Jack  Hawkins ! '  said  Captain  Burt. 

"  '  You  go  to  hell! '  I  said,  so  mad  I  didn't  know 
what  I  was  saying. 

"  He  gave  me  a  cuff  on  the  side  of  the  head 
with  the  palm  of  his  hand.  It  was  not  heavy,  but  it 
made  me  crazy. 

'"  Go  below  and  pray  God  to  forgive  you,'  he 
said. 

"No  man  had  ever  struck  me  before,  and  I 
swung  at  him  with  my  right.  I  caught  him  a 
glancing  blow  above  the  eye.  He  didn't  even  raise 
his  hands. 

"  *  Hit  me  again,  Jack  Hawkins  I '  he  said,  calm 
as  if  asking  me  to  pass  him  the  salt. 

"  I  aimed  for  his  chin,  but  caught  him  on  the 


HAWKINS    MAKES    A    DISCOVERY 

neck.  It  was  like  striking  a  brick  wall.  I  saw  his 
eyes  gleam,  but  he  said  nothing.  His  arm  smashed 
through  my  guard,  and  his  fist  landed  full  on  my 
temple.  It  was  a  frightful  blow,  and  I  went  sprawl- 
ing to  the  deck.  Before  I  could  make  a  struggle  he 
picked  me  up  and  hurled  me  over  the  rail.  As  I 
came  up  I  caught  one  glimpse  of  the  Segregansett 
through  the  mist,  as  she  heeled  to  port  in  the  gale. 

"The  water  revived  me,  and  I  succeeded  in 
kicking  off  my  boots.  I  swam  in  the  direction  of 
the  ship,  and  by  sheer  good  luck  bumped  into  a 
hencoop,  which  some  one — Captain  Burt  most  likely 
— had  thrown  overboard.  I  floated  around  on  that 
hencoop  until  morning. 

"  It  was  still  heavy  weather,  with  no  sign  of  the 
ship.  Along  about  noon  I  heard  a  splashing,  and  a 
big  canoe  filled  with  natives  came  in  sight.  I  yelled 
at  them,  and  after  much  palaver  they  took  me  in.  I 
was  pretty  well  fagged  out.  They  were  friendly 
savages  on  a  visit  from  one  small  island  to  another. 
I  went  along  as  a  guest,  and  it  was  months  before 
the  boats  of  the  'Jane  M'  came  ashore  and  took 
me  off. 

"A  year  later  I  landed  in  'Frisco,  just  in  time 
to  be  in  the  gold  excitement.  That's  all.  If  your 
grandfather  hadn't  thrown  me  overboard  in  the 
middle  of  the  Pacific  Ocean,  it's  not  likely  I'd  have 
located  the  Challenge  mine.  I  forgave  him  years 
ago,  and  you  can  bet  I  harbor  no  grudge  against 
his  grandson." 


JOHN  BURT 

t 

"  He  has  been  the  one  to  suffer,"  said  John. 
"  He  imagines  himself  your  murderer,  and  for  years 
has  prayed  for  forgiveness.  I  remember  as  a  little 
child  listening  to  his  petitions  to  the  Almighty  for 
*  having  taken  from  a  fellow  creature  that  breath  of 
life  which  Thou  gavest.'  I  expect  to  go  back  to 
him  in  a  few  days,  and  you  must  go  with  me.  I 
promised  when  I  fled  from  Rocky  Woods,  that  I 
would  not  communicate  with  him  or  any  one  I  knew 
until  I  could  meet  my  enemies  as  an  equal.  That 
time  has  come,  I  believe,"  added  John  with  a  quiet 
smile. 

Then  he  told  John  Hawkins  the  story  of  his 
boyhood  and  of  the  shooting  of  Arthur  Morris. 
He  told  of  his  love  for  Jessie  Garden,  and  of  his 
determination  to  restore  to  General  Garden  the  for- 
tune filched  from  him  by  the  elder  Morris. 

"When  last  I  saw  Miss  Garden,"  said  John, 
"  she  was  the  heiress  to  a  comfortable  fortune.  I 
had  nothing  but  health,  strength,  and  ambition,  but 
she  believed  in  my  future,  and  something  has  told 
me  that  she  would  wait  for  me.  In  these  long  years 
my  confidence  has  wavered  only  for  the  instant 
when  Blake  brought  news  that  she  was  engaged 
to  Morris.  I  shall  see  her  in  a  few  days,  and  I  wish 
her  to  be  as  proud  and  independent  of  my  wealth  as 
on  that  night  I  left  her  side,  five  years  ago.  In 
the  old  days  I  imagined  myself  handicapped  by  pov- 
erty; now  I  dread  the  weight  of  success.  She  has 
been  robbed  of  her  birthright,  but  if  my  judgment 
366 


HAWKINS    MAKES   A    DISCOVERY 

of  the  value  of  L.  &  O.  is  accurate,  it  will  be  re- 
stored to  the  keeping  of  her  father." 

"  I  have  news  for  you  about  L.  &  O.,"  said 
John  Hawkins,  "  but  first  tell  me  exactly  how  you 
stand.  How  much  do  you  lack  of  control?" 

"  How  many  shares  have  you?  "  asked  John. 

"  Seventy-four  hundred  and  sixty." 

John  consulted  a  detailed  statement  of  his  pur- 
chases. 

"The  company  is  organized  with  one  hundred 
thousand  shares,  of  a  par  value  of  one  hundred 
dollars  each,"  he  said,  u  with  bonds  to  the  amount 
of  five  millions  more.  Morris  holds  thirty-five 
thousand  shares,  and  his  associates  twelve  thous- 
and. That  is  three  thousand  less  than  control, 
but  he  imagines  that  General  Garden  cannot  exer- 
cise his  option  on  ten  thousand  shares.  These  he 
expects  will  fall  into  his  hands  when  the  market 
price  drops  below  twenty-six.  As  I  wrote  you,  I've 
had  Blake  acquire  this  option  from  General  Garden, 
but  of  course  Morris  knows  nothing  of  this.  By 
private  purchase  and  in  the  open  market,  our 
agents  have  picked  up  twenty-nine  thousand 
shares." 

"Let's  see,"  mused  John  Hawkins.  "I  have 
7,460,  you  have  29,000  and  an  option  on  Garden's 
10,000.  That  makes  a  total  of  46,460  shares.  You 
yet  lack  3,541  of  control.  Go  into  the  market  and 
buy  'em,  my  boy!  You've  done  a  great  piece  of 
work ;  a  bigger  one  than  you  realize." 

167 


JOHN  BURT 

"Now  let  me  tell  you  something,"  continued 
Hawkins,  after  pacing  up  and  down  the  room, 
"though  you  probably  know  most  of  it  already. 
Morris  owns  nearly  all  of  the  bonds.  For  years  old 
Randolph  Morris  has  been  scheming  to  wreck  the 
road  and  so  come  into  possession  of  it  on  his  bonds. 
As  a  final  step,  his  directors  propose  an  assessment 
of  the  stock.  Since  we  now  control,  or  will  before 
the  day  closes,  we  need  not  fear  this  move.  He 
had  arranged  to  turn  this  wrecked  property  over 
to  C.  M.  &  C.  C.,  for  a  consideration  of  eighteen 
million  dollars.  No  wonder  the  L.  &  O.  bonds  are 
not  for  sale.  It's  the  most  reckless  piece  of  rail- 
way murder  ever  attempted,  but  this  young  fool, 
Morris,  has  ruined  the  plans  so  carefully  laid  by  his 
old  villain  of  a  father.  He  has  staked  everything 
on  the  assumption  that  General  Garden  cannot  ex- 
ercise his  option.  What  amount  did  Morris  ad- 
vance to  Garden?" 

"  Less  than  $300,000." 

11  H-m-m-m.  What  an  ass!  Why  didn't  he 
give  Garden  what  the  stock  was  worth,  take  it  up, 
and  then  go  on  with  his  sheep-killing?"  Hawkins 
looked  his  disgust. 

**  Listen  to  me,  Burton — I  beg  your  pardon, 
my  boy — Mr.  Burt,"  and  the  room  again  resounded 
with  his  laugh.  "As  I  was  about  to  say,  I've  been 
looking  into  this  L.  &  O.  property.  It's  all  right, 
and,  as  president  of  the  International  Central,  I'm 
going  to  buy  it  if  I  can  make  reasonable  terms  with 

368 


HAWKINS    MAKES   A    DISCOVERY 

you.  The  L.  &  O.  gives  us  needed  terminals  in 
three  large  cities.  It  would  be  fatal  to  our  interests 
to  let  it  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  C.  M.  &  C.  C. 
If  it's  worth  eighteen  millions  to  them,  it's  worth  a 
few  millions  more  to  us.  I've  talked  with  Ren- 
shaw,  and  he's  with  us.  He's  willing  to  pay  twenty, 
or  even  twenty-two  millions  for  the  L.  &  O.  Figur- 
ing the  bonds  at  their  fair  value,  twenty  millions 
would  make  that  stock  worth  $150.00  a  share." 

"That's  the  way  I  figure  it,"  assented  John 
Burt. 

"  Has  Morris  sold  the  stock  short?" 

14 1  should  judge  that  he  is  short  50,000  or 
60,000  shares.  I  have  gone  long  on  at  least  45,000 
of  this  amount,  at  an  average  price  of  28>^." 

"  You've  got  him  all  right,"  roared  Hawkins, 
grasping  John  Burt's  hand.  "  I'm  proud  of  you, 
my  boy !  I  came  on  to  help  you  out,  and  now  I  find 
that  you  have  turned  the  trick  without  me.  Unless 
an  earthquake  destroys  New  York  in  a  week, 
you'll  have  the  Morris  millions,  and  your  sweet- 
heart's military  parent  can  count  his  fortune  in 
seven  figures.  Is  there  anything  more  you  want  ?  " 

"Yes,"  returned  John. 

"  Well,  you'll  get  her.  I'll  back  your  grandad's 
judgment  that  she  is  waiting  for  you.  Speaking  of 
Peter  Burt,  how  old  did  you  say  he  is?" 

"  Nearly  ninety." 

"  And  you  wish  me  to  see  him.  Think  I'll  wait 
until  he's  a  hundred,"  declared  John  Hawkins. 

369 


J       O       H        N  B        U        R       T 

"  Joking  aside,  I'll  go  with  you  any  day  you  say,  and 
I'll  be  damned  glad  to  meet  the  old  man.  Only  I'll 
promise  not  to  swear  again  in  his  presence." 

They  talked  for  hours,  and  Hawkins  listened 
with  interest  to  the  disclosures  made  by  Sam  Rounds 
concerning  the  Cosmopolitan  Improvement  Com- 
pany. The  ticker  showed  that  the  stock  was  strong 
and  buoyant,  in  anticipation  of  favorable  aldermanic 
action  on  the  following  evening. 

A  messenger  arrived  with  a  sealed  letter  from 
the  alderman,  informing  John  Burt  that  the  bribery 
money  had  been  paid  over  or  deposited.  With  the 
seven  aldermen  supposed  to  be  purchased,  Morris 
estimated  a  majority  of  four  in  favor  of  his  new 
franchises.  The  conservative  papers  denounced  the 
proposed  enactments  as  a  steal,  and  called  on  repu- 
table aldermen  to  go  on  record  against  them,  but 
refrained  from  naming  the  wealthy  beneficiaries  of 
this  public  crime. 

During  the  day  John  Burt  contracted  to  make 
future  delivery  of  large  blocks  of  Cosmopolitan. 
In  the  parlance  of  Wall  Street  this  was  "  going 
short."  In  other  words,  he  believed  that  this  stock 
was  selling  for  more  than  it  was  worth.  The 

;  defeat  of  the  ordinances  would  enhance  the  value 

t 

of  the  stock  of  the  rival  company,  and  John  Burt 
bought  it. 

Morris  was  so  sure  of  speculative  success  that 
he  had  fixed  the  dinner  party  to  General  Carden, 
Jessie,  Edith  and  Blake  for  Tuesday  evening — the 
370 


HAWKINS    MAKES   A    DISCOVERY 

date  of  the  council  session  when  his  ordinances 
would  come  up  for  final  action.  The  news  of  his 
triumph  should  come  to  him  while  he  was  reveling 
in  the  charm  of  Jessie  Garden's  presence.  The 
contemplation  of  this  pleasure  inspired  Morris  with 
a  new  idea. 

The  dinner  should  celebrate  his  formal  engage- 
ment to  Jessie  Garden !  The  more  he  pondered 
over  this  brilliant  coup  the  more  entrancing  did  it 
seem.  He  construed  Jessie's  acceptance  of  Blake's 
invitation  to  the  theatre  as  part  of  a  pretty  plot  to 
pique  his  jealousy.  Had  she  not  told  him  that  she 
would  not  marry  until  two  years  had  passed?  He 
consulted  his  note  book,  and  smiled  when  he  found 
that  the  weeks  of  his  probation  were  ended.  He 
had  been  a  laggard  but  would  wait  no  longer.  The 
fair  Jessie  had  employed  a  justifiable  expedient  to 
spur  him  to  action. 

His  carriage  drew  up  at  the  Bishop  residence 
an  hour  before  the  time  set  for  the  dinner.  He 
waited  with  impatience  for  Jessie,  and  was  effusive 
in  his  greeting  when  she  entered  the  drawing-room. 

"  You  are  more  than  prompt,  Mr.  Morris,"  she 
said,  releasing  her  hand. 

"  I  have  something  to  say  to  you,  to  ask  you, 
Jessie.  Are  we  likely  to  be  disturbed  here?  " 

"  I  think  not.  What  weighty  secret  have  you 
to  disclose,  Mr.  Morris?  I  warn  you  that  I  do  not 
speculate  or  take  the  slightest  interest  in  the  stock 

market.     Pray  be  seated." 

371 


JOHN  BURT 

The  great  house  was  silent,  and  the  yellow  light 
of  the  setting  sun  flooded  the  room.  Jessie  was 
superb  as  she  calmly  awaited  the  declaration  her 
intuition  told  her  was  forthcoming.  She  could  not 
find  in  her  heart  the  slightest  feeling  of  pity  or 
sympathy  for  Arthur  Morris.  By  nature  loving  and 
tender,  this  man  aroused  in  her  naught  but  bitter 
resentment. 

"I  have  waited  years  for  this  moment,"  he  said, 
dramatically.  His  face  paled  slightly,  but  he  was 
not  abashed.  "  From  the  hour  I  saw  you  in  Hing- 
ham  I  have  admired  you,  and  now  I  ask  you  to  be 
my  wife.  I  am  a  man  of  vast  affairs,  a  successful 
business  man,  as  you  are  aware.  I — I  am  not 
up  in  matters  of  this  kind, — but — but — will  you 
be  mine?  As  you  know,  I  think  a  great  deal  of 
you ;  more  than  I  know  how  to  tell  you !  The  gov- 
ernor— dear  old  governor! — endorses  my  choice. 
Say  you  will  have  me,  Jessie !  We  will  be  married 
at  once." 

He  had  forgotten  the  peroration  of  his  carefully 
prepared  and  oft-rehearsed  proposal,  and  concluded 
by  dropping  clumsily  to  his  knees.  There  was  more 
of  demand  than  of  pleading  in  his  manner.  It  was 
the  confident  request  of  the  creditor,  who  seeks  final 
payment  on  a  long  overdue  debt. 

Jessie  Garden's  eyes  flashed  as  she  looked  down 
upon  him. 

"Arise,  Mr.  Morris,  and  make  an  end  to  this 
scene!"  she  said,  as  she  instinctively  drew  away 

37* 


HAWKINS    MAKES   A   DISCOVERY 

from  him.  "  I  cannot  marry  you.  You  must  re- 
spect this  answer  as  final." 

Her  voice  was  low,  but  firm,  and  the  dark  eyes 
held  no  gleam  of  hope.  For  an  instant  an  almost 
ridiculous  expression  of  dismayed  surprise  came  to 
his  face,  and  then  it  was  mottled  with  an  anger 
which  swept  away  the  slight  trace  of  tenderness. 
Morris  struggled  to  his  feet. 

"  You  told  me  to  wait  two  years  for  you,  and  I 
have  waited !  "  he  exclaimed,  harshly.  "  This  is  a 
strange  reward  for  my  patience  and  for  my  kind- 
ness to  your  father !  " 

"I  told  you  I  would  not  marry  within  two 
years.  I  have  kept  my  word.  I  made  no  other 
promise.  I  shall  not  discuss  your  business  relations 
with  General  Garden.  You  certainly  have  not  con- 
sidered me  a  part  of  them.  Since  our  dinner  en- 
gagement promises  no  pleasure  to  either  of  us,  I 
will  release  you  from  it.  Pray  excuse  me.  General 
Garden  will  be  with  you  presently." 

"  Don't  go,  I  beg  of  you ! "  pleaded  Morris, 
as  Jessie  turned  to  leave  the  room.  "Your  absence 
from  the  dinner  would— well,  it  would  be  very  em- 
barrassing, don't  you  see?  I  won't  say  anything 
more  about— about  marriage,  but  please  go  with 
us.  Something  may  happen  which  you  would  like 
to  hear  about.  You  will  go;  won't  you— Miss 
Garden?" 

Jessie  yielded  to  this  miserable  entreaty,  and  a 
moment  later  General  Garden  entered  the  room 

373 


JOHN  BURT 

and  relieved  an  awkward  situation.  Jessie  took 
small  part  in  the  conversation  as  the  carriage  rolled 
down  the  avenue,  but  Morris  chatted  gaily  with 
Edith  Hancock.  He  secretly  nursed  his  anger,  but 
Jessie  noticed  that  he  studiously  ignored  General 
Garden, 


CHAPTER         THIRTY-THREE 

SAM  ROUNDS  REPENTS 

COSMOPOLITAN  Improvement  stock  was 
strong  and  active  during  the  session  preced- 
ing the  evening  set  for  the  special  considera- 
tion of  its  franchises.  Brokers  who  acted  for  Arthur 
Morris  stood  on  the  floor  of  the  exchange  and 
bid  up  the  stock  and  took  all  offerings.  The  price 
mounted  steadily,  but  rapidly.  There  was  heavy 
selling  from  some  unknown  source,  and  at  the  close 
enormous  blocks  came  out. 

The  rumor  spread  that  James  Blake  was  sell- 
ing the  stock.  When  his  representatives  stood  in 
the  excited  mob  and  boldly  proffered  Cosmopolitan 
in  thousand-share  lots,  the  price  sagged,  but  Mor- 
ris's agents  came  to  the  rescue  and  it  closed  just 
below  the  top  figure. 

A  published  poll  of  the  council  showed  a  ma- 
jority in  favor  of  the  ordinances,  and  wise  specula- 
tors predicted  that  in  the  expected  boom  of  the 
morrow  Blake  would  be  severely  punished.  Blake 
denied  himself  to  all  callers.  The  office  force  buzzed 
with  gossip,  hanging  on  the  fact  that  John  Burton 
had  taken  direct  control  of  the  Cosmopolitan  deal. 
Occasionally  Blake  was  called  into  his  office,  but 
when  he  emerged  he  issued  no  orders.  The  trans- 
actions were  recorded  in  the  name  of  John  Haw- 
kins, and  that  gentleman  spent  all  of  his  time  with 
"Mr.  Burton." 

Early  in  the  day  John  sent  for  Blake. 

17$ 


JOHN  BURT 

"  Mr.  Hawkins  and  I  have  arranged  to  attend 
to-night's  session  of  the  council,"  said  John.  "  Will 
you  join  us,  Jim?" 

"I'd  like  to,  but  I  have  another  engagement," 
replied  Blake.  "  I'll  try  to  drop  in  before  the  ses- 
sion is  over."  He  called  John  aside  so  that  Mr. 
Hawkins  would  not  overhear  him. 

"  Arthur  Morris  is  likely  to  be  there.  Are  you 
not  afraid  he  will  recognize  you?" 

"  I  am  not  attempting  to  avoid  Morris,  but  I 
doubt  if  he  will  be  present,"  was  John's  reply.  As 
Blake  left  the  room  he  felt  that  the  searching  eyes 
of  John  Hawkins  were  upon  him. 

"What's  the  matter  with  Blake?"  demanded 
Hawkins  abruptly,  when  the  door  had  closed.  "  He 
acts  like  a  cat  who  has  swallowed  a  canary,  or  who 
intended  to.  He's  not  the  same  Blake  I  knew  in 
California.  What's  up  with  him?" 

"He's  in  trouble." 

"What  about?" 

"  He  hasn't  told  me,"  replied  John  Burt  in  a 
tone  which  said  that  further  questioning  was  use- 
less. 

I  ''•  "U-m-m-m.  It's  none  of  my  business,  perhaps, 
but  I'd  find  out  if  I  were  you,"  with  which  remark 
Hawkins  pulled  vigorously  at  his  cigar  and  became 
absorbed  in  an  evening  paper. 

Long  before  the  chairman  called  the  city  fathers 
to  order,  the  hall  was  cloudy  with  tobacco  smoke. 
There  was  little  that  was  impressive  in  the  personnel 
01 


SAM      ROUNDS      REPENTS 

of  the  municipal  Solons,  nor  was  their  gathering 
marked  by  dignity.  It  is  a  sad  reflection  that  the 
average  city  council  is  fairly  representative  of  its 
constituents.  It  is  the  mirror  of  urban  ignorance, 
deceit  and  cupidity ;  of  the  varying  grades  of  venal- 
ity, relieved  by  a  sprinkling  of  upright,  but  too 
often  impractical  men.  Righteous  enactments  are 
wrung  from  such  bodies  only  by  fear  of  public 
indignation,  and  corrupt  measures  go  down  to  defeat 
only  when  detection  and  punishment  faces  the  pur- 
chasable majority. 

John  Burt  and  John  Hawkins  looked  down  on 
this  motley  crowd  of  civic  statesmanship. 

There  were  fat  aldermen,  with  rotund  stomachs 
and  double  chins;  slim  aldermen,  whose  cadaverous 
faces  were  alert  lest  some  steal  should  be  consum- 
mated without  their  participation;  pompous  alder- 
men, whose  measured  words  and  strutting  mien 
served  instead  of  mentality ;  modest  aldermen,  whose 
retiring  ways  and  furtive  glances  raised  the  suspi- 
cion that  they  had  stolen  quietly  into  political  honor 
by  some  strange  mistake;  solemn  aldermen,  awed  by 
the  weight  of  their  responsibilities,  and  who  gesticu- 
lated with  poised  forefingers ;  jocose  aldermen,  who 
regarded  the  assembly  as  a  club,  and  themselves  as 
the  merrymakers;  saloon-keeping  aldermen,  garish 
in  solitaires,  who  shook  hands  as  if  about  to  draw 
glasses  of  beer ;  ultra  respectable  aldermen  from  the 
suburban  wards,  whose  trimmed  beards  were  sug- 
gestive of  landscape  gardening ;  exquisite  aldermen, 

377 


JOHN  BURT 

slovenly  aldermen,  placid  aldermen,  nervous  alder- 
men— these  and  other  types  represented  the  elective 
majesty  of  the  American  metropolis. 

Within  the  rail  which  held  back  the  populace 
were  others  than  aldermen.  Newspaper  men  greeted 
the  legislators  by  their  first  names ;  artists  sketched 
them  in  characteristic  poses.  Former  aldermen  in 
retirement  by  the  negative  votes  of  their  wards,  now 
serving  as  lobbyists,  plied  their  trade  with  small 
attempt  at  secrecy.  Policemen,  sergeants-at-arms, 
and  distinguished  visitors  from  other  cities,  hurried 
about  the  halls.  Titled  foreigners  studying  Ameri- 
can institutions  "were  honored  with  seats  on  the  plat- 
form. Messenger  boys  and  a  delegation  of  school 
teachers  armed  with  a  petition  for  an  increase  in 
salaries  hung  about.  All  came  to  a  semblance  of 
order  when  the  presiding  officer  hammered  his  desk 
with  a  gavel  and  the  secretary  droned  the  roll-call. 

Various  minor  matters  had  been  debated  and 
decided  when  the  chairman  announced  that  the  hour 
set  for  the  consideration  of  the  franchises  of  the 
Cosmopolitan  Improvement  Company  had  arrived. 
A  clerk  read  the  ordinances,  and  each  alderman  was 
provided  with  a  copy  of  them. 

Alderman  Hendricks  arose  and  was  recog- 
nized. He  was  the  accredited  champion  of  the 
Cosmopolitan  franchises.  By  profession  he  was  a 
lawyer — by  occupation  the  municipal  representative 
of  such  corporations  as  could  command  his  ser- 
vices. He  made  an  able  presentation  of  the  argu- 
378 


SAM      ROUNDS      REPENTS 

ments  in  favor  of  the  pending  ordinances.  He 
was  empowered  by  his  constituents  to  vote  in  their 
favor,  he  said.  They  promised  a  much-needed  re- 
lief from  the  exactions  of  a  grinding  monopoly. 
Their  sponsors  were  wealthy,  reputable  citizens 
whose  words  were  as  good  as  their  bonds.  There 
could  be  no  intelligent,  unselfish  opposition  to  these 
measures,  and  so  on  to  an  eloquent  peroration.  It 
was  a  good  speech,  and  worth  all  that  was  paid 
for  it. 

Others  followed  in  a  similar  strain,  though  not 
so  logically  or  grammatically.  The  language  of 
the  Bowery  vied  with  the  classic  diction  of  the  uni- 
versities in  expounding  the  claims  and  merits  of 
Cosmopolitan.  A  well-drilled  claque  in  the  gallery 
applauded  at  proper  intervals. 

Alderman  Jones  was  recognized.  He  was  op- 
posed to  the  ordinances,  and  denounced  them  as  a 
sand-bagging  measure,  introduced  for  vicious  pur- 
poses. They  offered  no  relief,  and  no  honest  man 
could  vote  for  them.  Alderman  Jones  insinuated 
that  money  had  been  used  to  secure  their  passage. 
Since  he  was  known  to  be  an  incorrigible  reformer, 
no  attempt  had  been  made  to  bribe  him,  and  the 
Cosmopolitan  aldermen  laughed  at  his  charges. 

Other  speeches  were  made,  for  and  against  the 
ordinances,  and  then  Alderman  Hendricks  moved 
the  previous  question.  It  was  carried,  and  the  roll- 
call  ordered.  The  clerk,  pencil  in  hand,  began  his 
monotonous  task. 

379 


JOHN  BURT 

"First  Ward— Alderman  Patrick?" 

"  A-aye,  sor !  "  yelled  a  shrill  voice. 

The  claque  applauded  vigorously. 

"Alderman  Saboski?" 

"  Aye,"  sounded  a  clear  tenor. 

The  gallery  was  again  liberal  in  its  approba- 
tion. 

"Second  Ward — Alderman  Hendricks?" 

"Aye,"  said  the  great  lawyer,  without  raising 
his  eyes  from  a  document.  It  was  a  confident, 
assertive,  matter-of-fact  "  aye,"  as  if  its  recording 
were  a  mere  formality. 

"Alderman  Rounds?"  called  the  clerk. 

A  tall,  awkward  man  rose  and  faced  the  chair- 
man. His  red  hair  was  plastered  over  his  forehead, 
and  his  hands  seemed  in  the  way.  In  one  of  them 
he  held  a  package,  and  in  the  other  some  loose 
papers.  He  raised  his  eyes  to  the  gallery  and  they 
twinkled  as  they  rested  for  a  moment  on  John  Burt. 

"  Mr.  President,  I  desire  to  explain  my  vote  on 
these  ordinances." 

There  was  nothing  awkward  in  the  voice.  It 
was  clear,  firm,  and  had  that  ring  of  honesty  which 
commands  the  attention  of  hearers. 

"The  honorable  alderman  from  the  Second 
Ward  desires  to  explain  his  vote,"  said  the  presid- 
ing officer.  "  If  there  is  no  objection  he  will  pro- 
ceed." 

There  was  no  objection.  The  Cosmopolitan 
partisans  believed  that  Alderman  Rounds  had  been 
380 


SAM      ROUNDS      REPENTS 

won  over  to  their  side,  and  were  willing  he  should 
attempt  to  explain  the  reasons  for  his  change  of 
heart.  He  had  played  a  waiting  game,  and  it  was 
no  secret  to  those  on  the  inside  that  Arthur  Morris 
had  been  compelled  to  pay  liberally  for  the  alle- 
giance of  Samuel  L.  Rounds.  And  they  admired 
Rounds  for  it.  The  small  thief  looks  up  to  the  big 
thief,  and  in  municipal  circles  the  official  who  can 
"  hold  up"  a  great  corporation  and  make  it  "  stand 
and  deliver"  is  awarded  a  full  measure  of  respect 
from  those  whose  peculations  are  conducted  more 
timorously. 

"  Mr.  Chairman,"  began  Alderman  Rounds, 
placing  his  papers  on  the  desk,  and  with  his  hands 
plunged  in  his  pockets,  "  two  years  ago,  when  the 
original  Cosmopolitan  ordinances  came  up  for  pas- 
sage, I  voted  an'  spoke  against  them.  I  was  opposed 
to  them  an'  said  so.  When  these  bills  were  pro- 
posed I  made  a  careful  study  of  them.  At  first  I 
was  not  in  favor  of  them,  but  certain  gentlemen 
presented  the  subject  to  me  in  a  new  light,  an'  I 
agreed  to  vote  for  the  passage  of  the  ordinances 
now  under  consideration." 

The  Cosmopolitan  aldermen  joined  the  claque 
in  the  applause  which  followed  this  declaration. 

"  Mr.  Chairman,"  continued  Sam  Rounds,  as- 
suming an  easy  attitude  in  the  aisle,  "  I  don't  sup- 
pose there's  any  one  in  this  honorable  body  likes 
money  better'n  I  do.  As  far  back  as  I  can  trace, 
no  one  in  the  Rounds  family  ever  had  much  money, 


JOHN  BURT 

and  it  looks  like  I  had  inherited  all  the  thirst  for 
money  which  comes  from  a  drought  in  the  Rounds 
family  extending  two  hundred  years  back  an'  more. 
When  I  began  to  make  money  tradin'  in  hosses 
back  in  Massachusetts,  it  was  like  pourin'  kerosene 
oil  on  a  red-hot  stove.  The  more  I  got  the  more  I 
wanted,  an'  as  some  of  you  know  I've  done  pretty 
fairly  middlin'  well." 

Sam  Rounds  reached  out  and  picked  a  small 
package  from  the  table  and  looked  at  it  longingly. 
Alderman  Hendricks  turned  in  his  chair  and  gazed 
uneasily  at  the  speaker.  There  was  something  in 
his  manner  which  caused  a  hush  to  fall  on  the 
assembly. 

"  Mr.  Chairman, "said  Alderman  Rounds,  slowly 
unwrapping  the  package  as  he  continued,  "  money 
is  the  greatest  argument  in  the  world.  Logic  is  a 
fine  thing,  but  money  beats  logic.  I  admire  the 
man  who  has  the  gift  of  eloquence,  like  my  honor- 
able colleague  from  my  ward,  but  money  can  give 
eloquence  a  handicap  an'  beat  it  every  time.  Money 
talks  with  a  tongue  of  silver  an'  lips  of  gold.  It 
whispers  sweet  words  to  our  willin'  ears,  an'  we 
answer  yes  or  no  under  the  spell  of  its  musical  notes. 
Money — " 

"  Mr.  Chairman,"  interrupted  Alderman  Hen- 
dricks, "  we  desire  to  proceed  with  this  vote — much 
as  we  are  charmed  by  my  colleague's  trite  reflections 
about  money  as  an  abstract  proposition.  The  ques- 
tion before  the  Board  is  the  disposition  of  these 


SAM      ROUNDS      REPENTS 

ordinances.  I  demand  that  the  alderman  record 
his  vote." 

"Alderman  Rounds  has  the  floor,"  decided  the 
chairman. 

"  Thank  you,  I'll  not  take  up  much  of  your 
time,"  said  Sam  Rounds.  "  As  I  was  sayin',  I'm 
uncommonly  fond  of  money,  an'  when  the  President 
of  the  Cosmopolitan  Improvement  Company  came 
to  my  place  of  business  an'  said  he  would  pay  me 
ten  thousand  dollars  for  my  vote  in  favor  of  these 
ordinances,  I  just  went  plumb  off  my  center,  an'  told 
him  I  would  consider  it.  I  couldn't  see  anything 
else  in  the  world  but  that  figure  '  one '  with  four 
ciphers  after  it,  an'  a  dollar  mark  in  front  of  it. 
Mr.  Chairman,  you  never  had  to  work  hard  or  trade 
for  a  livin',  an'  you  can't  realize  how  I  felt  when  he 
placed  this  here  package  in  my  hand." 

Sam  tore  away  the  wrapping  and  disclosed  a 
layer  of  crisp  banknotes.  Every  eye  in  the  room 
was  fixed  on  the  speaker  as  he  stepped  forward  and 
laid  them  on  the  chairman's  table.  Dazed  and  de- 
moralized, no  member  of  the  opposition  dared  inter- 
rupt. 

"  When  I  made  my  start  tradin'  hosses  I  was 
tickled  to  death  if  I  sold  a  hoss  an'  made  twenty 
dollars  profit.  That  ten  thousand  dollars  meant  the 
sellin'  of  more  than  five  hundred  hosses,  an'  all  I 
had  to  do  was  reach  out  an'  take  it.  In  my  produce 
an'  commission  business,  competition  is  so  sharp 
that  I'm  lucky  to  quit  two  cents  ahead  on  a  bushel 


JOHN  BURT 

of  potatoes,  an'  there  in  a  lump  was  more  money 
than  I  could  make  on  half  a  million  bushel  of  pota- 
toes— an'  I  want  to  tell  you  that  that's  an  awful  lot 
of  potatoes — enough  to  last  this  town  a  long  while. 
An'  I  gazed  at  that  money  an'  thought  how  it 
would  look  in  my  bank  book,  an'  I  said  to  him, 
'Mr.  Morris,'  says  I,  'I'm  your  man.'  An'  then 
seein'  how  easy  it  was  to  make  money  here  in  this 
city  council,  I  made  a  deal  with  him  by  which  I  was 
to  buy  up  six  other  aldermen  an'  turn  'em  over  to 
him,  same  as  if  they  was  a  lot  of  hosses  or  bags  of 
potatoes.  I  talked  with  these  aldermen,  Mr.  Chair- 
man, an'  all  of  them  accepted  what  I  offered  them. 
Then  we  drew  up  an  agreement  to  vote  for  the 
ordinances  an'  gave  it  to  Mr.  Morris.  Here,  Mr. 
Chairman,  is  the  duly  certified  copy  of  that  contract. 
Part  of  the  money  was  in  cash  an'  the  rest  in  a  cer- 
tified check  which  was  deposited  in  the  hands  of  a 
disinterested  party.  That  party  has  kindly  loaned 
me  this  check,  an'  I  have  brought  it  here  for  your 
inspection.  You  will  note  that  it  is  signed  by  Mr. 
Arthur  Morris  and  drawn  on  his  bank. 

"Now,  Mr.  Chairman,  an'  members  of  this 
honorable  body,"  said  Sam,  turning  and  facing  his 
astonished  listeners,  "I  want  to  say  to  you  that  I 
have  changed  my  mind  about  voting  for  these  ordi- 
nances. My  lawyer  tells  me  I  don't  have  to  keep 
this  agreement  with  Mr.  Morris,  an'  I'm  goin'  to 
sacrifice  that  ten  thousand  dollars  an'  the  ten  thous- 
and more  which  would  have  been  mine  when  these 


SAM      ROUNDS      REPENTS 

ordinances  pass.  I  talked  it  all  over  with  my  old 
mother — an'  she  likes  money  a'most  as  bad  as  I  do 
— an'  we  agreed  it  wan't  the  proper  thing  to  do.  I 
told  the  people  down  in  my  ward  when  they  elected 
me,  that  I  would  be  as  square  with  them  here  in  this 
council  as  I  was  in  my  store,  an'  I  take  it  that  I'm 
here  only  because  they  can't  be  here.  I  speak  an' 
act  for  them,  but  all  of  us  are  partners  in  matters 
affecting  the  welfare  of  the  city.  I  wouldn't  cheat 
a  partner  in  business,  an'  I  won't  cheat  my  partners 
as  citizens.  Mr.  Morris  says  he  isn't  attempting  to 
bribe  me,  an'  I'm  willing  to  take  his  word  for  it  that 
it  was  purely  a  business  proposition.  He  didn't  say 
anything  to  me  about  keeping  it  a  secret,  so  I've 
told  you  all  I  know  about  it.  It  occurs  to  me  that 
if  these  franchises  are  so  valuable  that  those  seeking 
them  are  willing  to  pay  money  for  them,  that  they 
should  pay  it  into  the  city  treasury  so  it  may  be  ex- 
pended for  parks,  schools,  streets,  an'  other  im- 
provements in  which  all  the  taxpayers  can  share. 
Of  course  I  may  be  wrong,  but  that's  the  way  it 
looks  to  me,  Mr.  Chairman.  Acting  on  the  advice 
of  my  lawyer,  I  therefore  turns  this  money  over  to 
you,  with  the  certified  check  an'  the  agreement  we 
signed.  All  of  the  aldermen  who  signed  it  have 
changed  their  minds,  as  they  probably  will  tell  you. 
Thankin'  you  for  your  kind  attention  to  this  explana- 
tion, I  votes  'no'." 

A  scene  of  wildest  confusion  followed.     Half 
of    the   members   were    on   their   feet   demanding 


JOHN  BURT 

recognition.  The  chairman  pounded  his  gavel  into 
slivers  in  a  vain  attempt  to  restore  order.  Sam 
Rounds  was  surrounded  by  reporters  who  de- 
manded details,  but  he  declined  to  add  a  word  to 
his  public  statement.  The  storm  gradually  subsided, 
and  Alderman  Hendricks  secured  recognition  from 
the  chair. 

"In  view  of  the  remarkable  statements  made  by 
my  colleague,"  he  said,  "I  move  a  postponement  of 
the  vote,  and  the  appointment  of  a  committee  to 
investigate  these  curious  charges." 

There  were  vigorous  protests,  and  the  chair 
ruled  that  the  vote  must  proceed.  Each  of  the  six 
aldermen  associated  with  Sam  Rounds  substantiated 
the  charges  made,  and  deposited  the  bribery  money 
with  the  chairman.  Realizing  that  defeat  was  inevi- 
table, all  of  the  ringsters  excepting  Alderman  Hen- 
dricks recorded  their  votes  against  the  ordinances. 
A  motion  to  adjourn  was  declared  passed,  and  the 
excited  mob  poured  into  the  corridors. 


]36 


CHAPTER        THIRTY-FOUR 

THE      LOVE     OF     A     MAN     FOR    A     WOMAN 

IT  was  not  the  fault  of  the  chef  or  of  the  service 
that  Arthur  Morris  did  not  enjoy  his  dinner. 

Jessie's  beauty,  which  once  charmed  him,  now 
inspired  him  with  jealous  rage.  For  Blake  he  felt 
unalloyed  hatred,  and  for  General  Garden  a  con- 
tempt which  he  did  not  try  to  conceal.  The  cheer- 
fulness which  he  had  assumed  when  Jessie  rejected 
his  suit,  gave  way  to  sullen  reticence.  On  the  ashes 
of  his  passion  he  kindled  the  fires  of  revenge.  He 
impatiently  awaited  the  morrow,  when  he  hoped  to 
crush  James  Blake  and  to  extinguish  the  general. 
He  prayed  that  the  news  of  the  council's  decision 
might  be  brought  to  him  at  dinner. 

Morris  knew  that  the  firm  of  James  Blake  & 
Company  had  sold  large  amounts  of  Cosmopolitan 
stock.  His  agents  had  traced  to  the  same  source 
extensive  purchases  of  L.  &  O.  He  glanced  at 
Blake  and  then  at  Jessie,  and  a  bitter  smile  came  to 
his  lips. 

"I  will  make  this  a  famous  marriage,"  he 
thought.  "  I'll  strip  this  cad  Blake  of  his  last  dollar 
before  he  can  fix  a  wedding-day  with  this  penniless 
daughter  of  a  doddering  old  bankrupt!  I'll  shear 
him  so  close  that  they'll  be  glad  to  spend  the  honey- 
moon in  a  hall  bedroom  of  a  tenement  flat  on  the 
East  Side.  I've  got  him  at  last  where  I  want  him. 
And  old  Garden  knows  what's  coming  to  him.  He 
shall  walk  the  streets  to-morrow !  Ruin— absolute, 

5*7 


JOHN  BURT 

hopeless  ruin — will  be  served  out  to  the  whole 
threadbare  rabble  to-morrow!  The  marriage  of 
Miss  Jessie  Bankrupt  to  Mr.  James  Failure!"  and 
he  grinned  in  his  hatred. 

"  Let  us  share  your  amusement,"  said  Blake, 
who  had  been  watching  Morris  closely.  He  had 
not  failed  to  notice  the  coldness  between  his  rival 
and  Jessie  Garden,  and  felt  reasonably  certain  of 
the  truth.  "  Why  this  suppressed  merriment,  Mor- 
ris? Let  us  in  on  your  secret  hilarity." 

"  Excuse  my  absent-mindedness,"  returned 
Morris,  after  a  moment's  reflection,  "but  I  was 
smiling  to  think  of  Cosmopolitan  and  the  scene  on 
Wall  Street  to-morrow.  Cosmopolitan  is  a  stock, 
Miss  Garden,  and  I  know  you  are  not  interested  in 
anything  so  vulgar  as  stocks  or  money,  but  to-mor- 
row its  fate  will  grip  the  world  like  the  death  of  a 
king.  But  Blake  is  interested,  and  your  father  used 
to  be.  They  say,  by  the  way,  Blake,  that  you're 
short  on  Cosmopolitan?  Hope  not,  old  chap!  It's 
a  deuced  bad  time,  don't  you  know,  to  make  that 
sort  of  a  play,  my  dear  fellow." 

"  Oh,  I'm  all  right,  Morris,  thanks,  I  haven't 
sold  a  share,"  replied  Blake,  cheerfully.  "  Some  of 
my  customers  may  have  done  so,  but  I've  paid  no 
attention  to  it.  I've  been  loading  up  on  L.  &  O., 
as  you  advised." 

"  Glad  to  hear  it,"  returned  Morris,  who  be- 
lieved the  latter  half  of  Blake's  statement,  and  set 
the  first  down  as  a  conventional  Wall  Street  false* 
588 


THE  LOVE  OF  A  MAN  FOR  A  WOMAN 

hood.  "  The  council  will  pass  the  ordinances  to- 
night. I'm  expecting  word  from  there  any  minute." 

As  he  spoke  a  messenger  boy  approached  and 
handed  Morris  an  envelope. 

u  Ah  !  I  presume  this  is  it  1 "  he  exclaimed.  He 
adjusted  his  monocle  with  elaborate  care,  broke  the 
envelope  and  read : 

My  Dear  Morris  :  The  Cosmopolitan  franchises  were  de- 
feated by  a  practically  unanimous  vote.  Rounds  and  six 
ethers  charge  you  with  bribery.  Rounds  exhibited  your 
certified  check.  Am  on  my  way  to  the  Hoffman  House. 
Meet  me  there  at  once.  Destroy  this.  H. 

The  note  fell  from  the  speculator's  hand  and 
fluttered  to  the  floor.  He  stared  wildly  around, 
but  no  words  came  to  his  lips. 

"Any  answer,  boss?"  The  piping  voice  of 
the  messenger  boy,  as  he  stood,  cap  in  hand,  re- 
called him  to  earth. 

"  No,"  he  said,  pushing  his  chair  from  the  table 
and  rising  unsteadily  to  his  feet.  "I'm  going. 
Good-night!" 

"  Forty-five  cents,  boss,"  demanded  the  mes- 
senger. 

"Get  out  of  the  way,  damn  you!  Pay  this 
boy,  Blake!"  and  he  rushed  for  the  dressing-room. 

Blake  picked  up  the  note  and  tore  it  into 
pieces.  He  knew  the  purport  of  the  message 
which  had  caused  the  precipitate  departure  of  Arthur 
Morris,  but  he  did  not  disclose  it. 


JOHN  BURT 

"  Some  important  Wall  Street  matter,  I  sup- 
pose," he  ventured,  in  answer  to  the  questioning 
surprise  of  Jessie  and  Edith. 

"His  expression  positively  frightened  me!" 
said  Edith.  "  Did  you  notice  how  white  he  turned 
when  he  read  that  note  ?  It  must  have  been  some- 
thing awful!  Perhaps  his  father  is  dead?" 

Mr.  Kingsley  sauntered  through  the  room, 
and,  with  a  smile  and  a  polite  salutation,  paused  a 
moment  to  chat  with  his  acquaintances. 

"  I  passed  Morris  in  the  lobby,"  he  said.  "  He's 
been  dining  with  you,  has  he  not?  He  looked  like 
a  ghost.  You've  heard  the  news,  haven't  you? 
No  ?  I  got  it  from  young  Rogers ;  and  he's  nearly 
as  badly  broke  up  as  Morris.  It's  a  beastly  affair, 
and  I'm  glad  I'm  not  in  it.  The  aldermen  met  to- 
night and  defeated  the  Cosmopolitan  ordinances. 
Morris  is  heavily  interested  in  them,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing,  don't  you  know?  But  that's  not 
all.  An  alderman,  named  Square  or  Block — 
Rounds? — knew  it  was  some  geometrical  name — 
well,  this  fellow  Rounds  raised  a  blooming  scandal 
— showed  papers  and  checks  and  things,  you  know, 
and  said  that  Morris  had  bribed  him!  Young 
Rogers  tried  to  tell  me  about  it.  He  was  there 
and  saw  it,  but  it  seems  he's  been  speculating  in 
this  Cosmopolitan  stock,  and  he's  in  such  a  purple 
funk,  don't  you  know,  that  I  couldn't  make  out  half 
what  he  said.  By  Jove,  it  was  a  narrow  escape  for 
me !  Morris  wanted  me  to  go  in  with  him,  but  my 
390 


THE  LOVE  OF  A  MAN  FOR  A  WOMAN 

governor — wise  old  governor — wouldn't  put  up  a 
dollar.  Beastly  business !  Looks  bad  for  Morris. 
Nice  chap,  Morris.  Don't  you  think  so,  Blake? 
You  are  looking  more  charming  than  ever,  Miss 
Hancock.  I  would  that  I  could  frame  a  compli- 
ment worthy  of  you,  Miss  Garden.  Waiter,  a  glass, 
and,  with  your  permission,  I'll  tarry  in  the  place 
vacated  by  your  absent  host  and  drink  your  health 
and  his  success,  in  spite  of  this — this  unfortunate 
incident." 

The  voluble  Kingsley  found  the  society  of  Miss 
Hancock  so  agreeable  that  his  companions  could 
not  lure  him  from  the  table.  General  Garden  was 
called  to  another  part  of  the  room,  and  James  Blake 
welcomed  the  opportunity  of  a  chat  with  Jessie. 

The  impending  overthrow  of  Morris  fed  the 
flames  of  James  Blake's  impatience.  According  to- 
the  falsehood  he  had  told  John  Burt,  Jessie  was  due 
to  arrive  in  New  York  in  a  few  days.  He  saw  a 
thousand  chances  for  the  exposure  of  his  duplicity 
to  one  for  its  success.  Only  in  Jessie's  presence 
did  his  hopes  surmount  his  fears.  He  invented 
innumerable  wild  schemes  and  dismissed  them  one 
by  one.  One  chance  remained — an  immediate  pro- 
posal, its  unhesitating  acceptance,  and  a  hasty  mar- 
riage. He  would  carry  the  citadel  of  her  heart  by 
storm,  and  bear  her  away  in  the  confusion  and  tur- 
moil of  the  coming  battle. 

"Women  have  been  won  in  a  day,"  he  mused, 
"  and  by  knights  less  well  armed  than  myself.  Why 


JOHN  BURT 

should  she  not  look  with  favor  on  my  suit?  I'm 
rich ;  they  say  I'm  good-looking.  Jessie  will  look 
upon  me  as  her  father's  benefactor  the  moment 
Morris  is  slaughtered  by  the  rise  in  L.  &  O.  John 
is  likely  to  spring  that  trap  to-morrow.  I'll  pro- 
pose to-morrow  night !  She  must  accept  me — she 
will  accept  me.  Then,  an  immediate  marriage  and 
a  trip  to  Europe.  Why  should  that  not  win?  It's 
got  to  win;  I'll  make  it  win.  Let's  see;  that  gives 
me  about  six  days.  The  Bible  says  the  world  was 
created  in  six  days,  and  a  strong  man  should  be  able 
to  win  a  little  woman  in  half  the  time." 

Thus  argued  James  Blake  during  a  lull  in  the 
conversation.  This  was  worthy  of  his  reckless 
nature.  He  could  not  turn  back.  The  smoke  of 
burning  bridges  was  behind  him ;  the  spoils  of  con- 
quered love  awaited  his  onward  march. 

"  It  seems  impossible  that  I  have  known  you 
only  a  week,"  he  said,  raising  his  eyes  and  looking 
tenderly  into  Jessie's  face.  "  I  feel  as  if  I'd  been 
acquainted  with  you  for  years,  and  not  for  a  few 
brief  days." 

Millions  of  lovers  have  voiced  the  same  discov- 
ery, and  millions  more  will  do  it  again. 

"You  are  singularly  forgetful,"  laughed  Jessie, 
"  of  our  early  acquaintance  in  Rocky  Woods.  That 
was  not  weeks,  but  years  ago." 

"I  must  give  Mr.  Morris  credit  for  that  bit  of 
imagination,"  said  Blake.  "  It  has  become  a  reality 
to  me,  and  I  can  see  you  as  you  were  back  in  those 

39* 


years,  and  picture  you  among  the  rocks  and  fields 
we  knew  so  well.  Do  you  go  there  this  season,  Miss 
Garden?" 

"  We  leave  on  the  Thursday  evening  boat,"  was 
the  reply.  Nothing  could  h?ve  suited  Blake  better. 
He  would  tell  John  Burt  that  Jessie  had  postponed 
her  departure  from  France.  He  then  would  plead 
ill  health  and  join  Jessie  in  Hingham,  and  their  mar- 
riage and  wedding-trip  should  follow.  The  first 
card  had  fallen  in  his  favor,  and  he  determined  to 
press  his  advantage. 

"  May  I  call  to-morrow  evening,  and  not  plead 
business  with  the  general  as  a  pretext?"  he  asked 
boldly.  "  I  may  not  have  another  chance  to  see  you 
oefore  you  leave.  You  see  I'm  already  presuming 
on  these  years  of  friendship." 

"  General  Garden  attends  a  banquet  to-morrow 
evening,  but  Edith  and  I  will  be  at  home  and  we'll  be 
delighted  if  you'll  drop  in  to  relieve  the  monotony," 
replied  Jessie.  "Uncle  Tom  plays  a  splendid  hand 
at  whist  and  you  can  take  papa's  place." 

"One    can't   talk   and   play   whist,"   observed 
Blake  with  a  queer  smile.     "I've  so  many  things  I, 
wish   to   say  that  I'd  be  willing  and   even  glad  to 
forego  the  pleasures  of  the  game." 

At  that  moment  General  Garden  rejoined  the 
\ittle  party,  and  as  Jessie  made  no  direct  reply  Blake 
..onstrued  her  silence  into  consent.  His  spirits 
mounted  high  as  hope  fed  the  springs  of  his  long- 
ing. The  hour  was  late  when  he  bade  his  fellow- 

393 


JOHN  BURT 

guests  good  night  at  the  carriage  door,  and  his 
being  thrilled  with  the  touch  of  her  hand  and  the 
light  of  her  smile  at  parting. 

Blake  strolled  slowly  up  the  avenue,  in  the 
direction  of  his  apartments.  He  had  not  gone 
two  squares  when  he  met  John  Burt.  In  all  the 
years  in  San  Francisco  and  New  York,  this  was  the 
first  time  they  had  met  in  a  public  thoroughfare. 
One  of  the  horses  hauling  a  wagon  laden  with  stage 
settings  had  fallen  and  blocked  the  street. 

The  Bishop  carriage  was  caught  in  the  eddy  of 
traffic  caused  by  the  temporary  dam  across  con- 
flicting streams.  A  public  hansom,  furiously  driven, 
almost  crashed  into  the  entangled  vehicles,  and  the 
light  from  a  street  lamp  showed  the  blotched  face 
of  Arthur  Morris  as  he  leaned  far  out  to  curse  the 
driver. 

Within  a  circle  of  a  hundred  feet  were  four  of 
the  figures  in  a  drama  which  was  culminating  to  a 
tragedy. 

"Hello,  Jim!"  exclaimed  John  Burt.  "I've 
been  looking  everywhere  for  you.  Was  just  going 
to  Sherry's.  Have  been  to  your  rooms  and  left 
word  with  your  man  that  I  would  be  back.  Haw- 
kins is  there  waiting  for  us.  Where  can  we  get  a 
carriage?  I'm  lost  in  this  wilderness." 

The  fallen  horse  had  struggled  to  his  feet,  and 
Blake  saw  the  Bishop  carriage  thread  its  way 
through  the  crush  and  turn  into  a  side  street.  Mor- 
ris struck  his  horse  a  vicious  blow  with  a  cane,  and 

394 


THE  LOVE  OF  A  MAN  FOR  A  WOMAN 

the  animal  dashed  ahead.  Blake  concealed  his  con- 
fusion by  looking  up  and  down  the  street  for  a 
carriage.  He  finally  hailed  a  driver,  and  they  were 
rapidly  driven  to  his  apartments. 

"  We  must  perfect  our  plans  for  to-morrow," 
said  John.  "  The  critical  hours  are  near  and  every- 
thing must  move  like  clockwork.  The  city  council 
defeated  the  Cosmopolitan  franchises  to-night,  and  I 
shall  move  against  L.  &  O.  to-morrow  morning." 

The  voice  was  calm,  but  it  held  a  note  of 
triumph  and  of  quiet  confidence.  It  hinted  at  no 
suspicion,  and  Blake  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief 
as  he  thought  of  his  third  escape. 

He  shuddered  to  think  of  what  would  have  hap- 
pened had  General  Garden  postponed  his  departure 
from  the  dining-room  by  a  few  minutes.  He  pic- 
tured John  Burt  entering  the  room,  his  steady  gaze 
fixed  first  on  himself  and  then  on  Jessie  Garden. 
So  vivid  was  the  imaginary  picture  that  he  felt  all 
the  horror  of  the  situation. 

Little  was  said  as  they  drove  rapidly  along  the 
avenue.  John  seemed  absorbed  in  thoughts  of  the 
morrow.  The  intermittent  glare  from  street  lamps 
and  passing  carriages  lighted  up  his  face  and  re- 
vealed his  stalwart  figure.  The  past  unrolled  its 
scroll  before  James  Blake,  and  something  blurred 
his  eyes  and  surged  to  his  throat.  Passion  for 
Jessie  Garden  had  overthrown  his  judgment, 
dwarfed  his  reason,  and  made  him  recreant  to  a 
friendship  which  he  had  cherished  above  all  things. 

395 


JOHN  BURT 

John  Burt  aroused  from  his  reverie  and  threw 
his  arm  familiarly  across  Blake's  shoulder. 

"This  is  my  last  speculative  campaign,  Jim," 
he  said.  "  For  years  I  have  been  a  gold-grubbing 
and  money-making  machine,  and  I  hope  my  better 
instincts  have  survived  the  strain.  We  shall  triumph 
to-morrow,  and  when  it  is  ended  you  shall  be,  in 
fact  as  well  as  in  name,  the  head  of  the  firm  of 
James  Blake  &  Company.  I  can  retire  from  active 
participation  in  its  affairs  as  quietly  as  I  entered, 
and  you  have  fairly  won  whatever  of  prestige  at- 
taches to  the  name.  You  know,  old  man,  that  you 
can  call  on  me  for  counsel,  or,  if  necessary,  for 
assistance,  and  I'm  sure  Hawkins  will  make  the 
same  pledge.  We'll  not  discuss  the  matter  to- 
night, but  you  must  not  argue  with  me  or  hurt  my 
feelings  by  attempting  to  thank  me.  We  are  all 
more  or  less  selfish,  Jim,  and  you  can  put  this  down 
as  pure  selfishness  on  my  part.  Here  we  are  ! " 

Before  Blake  could  find  words  to  reply,  the 
carriage  stopped  in  front  of  his  apartment.  They 
entered  and  found  Hawkins  awaiting  them. 

"  I'm  making  myself  at  home,  Blake,"  he  said. 
"  I've  kept  your  man  busy  getting  cigars  and  refresh- 
ments. I  endorse  your  brandy,  but  your  tobacco  is 
not  heavy  enough  for  me.  Let's  get  down  to  busi- 
ness, gentlemen.  It's  past  midnight,  and  we'll  need 
all  the  sleep  we  can  get." 

For  nearly  two  hours  they  worked  at  the  plans 
for  the  battle  which  was  to  come.  At  times  Blake 


THE  LOVE  OF  A  MAN  FOR  A  WOMAN 

was  absorbed  in  the  discussion,  again  his  mind  wan- 
dered to  the  woman  he  would  buy  at  the  price  of 
his  honor. 

Then  he  thought  of  John  Burt's  princely 
pledge,  and  like  a  flash  there  came  to  him  an  im- 
pulse which  thrilled  his  very  soul  with  a  happiness  in 
which  were  throbs  of  poignant  pain. 

Not  many  blocks  away  another  conference  was 
in  progress.  Staid  bank  directors  and  financiers 
associated  with  Arthur  Morris  had  been  aroused 
from  their  slumbers  and  were  assembled  in  his 
rooms.  Bewildered  for  the  moment  by  the  unex- 
pected blow,  Morris  took  measures  for  defense  with 
a  vigor  which  was  keyed  by  a  sense  of  imminent 
danger.  His  suspicion  that  James  Blake  was  the 
cause  of  his  defeat  became  a  certainty  when  a  reporter 
informed  him  that  Blake  and  Samuel  L.  Rounds 
were  boyhood  companions,  and  that  the  latter  had 
been  seen  in  Blake's  offices. 

How  he  had  loathed  Blake  that  night  as  Jessie 
Garden  sat  between  them  at  the  dinner!  He  had 
wished  the  food  would  choke  him  or  the  wine  poison 
him.  And  now  his  imperilled  millions  shrieked  in 
fear  at  the  mention  of  the  man's  name.  He  cursed 
the  day  that  took  him  to  Hingham,  and  the  hour 
when  he  saw  the  pretty  face  of  Jessie  Garden. 

The  east  was  crimsoned  with  sunlight  before 
the  conference  ended.  The  weary  men  of  money 
left  Morris's  rooms  and  sought  a  few  hours  of  rest 
before  facing  the  ordeal  of  the  day.  For  mutual 

397 


JOHN  BURT 

protection  they  had  formed  a  pool;  had  pledged 
themselves  to  support  the  market  against  the  ex- 
pected onslaught  of  Blake's  millions. 

They  dreamed  not  that  such  a  man  as  John 
Burt  existed,  or  that  his  masked  and  entrenched 
millions  were  so  arrayed  as  to  strike  a  blow  at  an 
undefended  place,  and  in  an  unexpected  moment. 

Why  were  these  masked  millions  drawn  up  in 
battle  array?  Why  were  the  accumulated  fortunes 
of  a  lifetime  about  to  be  risked  in  a  grim  struggle 
for  financial  life  or  death?  Why  did  men  of  vast 
affairs  wait  with  drawn  faces  and  bated  breaths  the 
hour  when  the  clash  of  opposing  fortunes  should 
sound  the  signal  for  merciless  conflict? 

Because  of  a  woman — a  woman  pure  as  an  open- 
ing bud  and  gentle  as  the  dew  which  kisses  it. 

Why  had  James  Blake  proved  false  to  the  man 
who  unselfishly  befriended  him?  Why  had  he  sought 
to  repay  loyalty  with  perfidy? 

Because  of  a  woman — a  woman  whose  loving 
heart  was  incapable  of  deceit. 

Why  had  John  Burt  consecrated  years  of  his 
life  in  stern  preparation  for  the  crisis  then  at  hand? 
Why  was  he  willing  to  risk  everything  in  a  single 
combat  with  the  man  who  stood  between  him  and 
his  crowning  ambition? 

Because  of  a  woman — because  of  Jessie  Garden. 

Because  a  whimsical  fate  had  ordained  that 
three  men  should  meet  and  love  the  same  woman, 
the  eyes  of  the  world  were  bent  that  day  upon  Wall 

S9S 


THE  LOVE  OF  A  MAN  FOR  A  WOMAN 

Street.  Because  of  her  innocent  charms,  the  vast 
machinery  of  finance  and  speculation  reached  out 
and  crushed  some  into  bankruptcy,  lifted  others 
into  opulence.  When  all  was  ended,  the  students 
of  such  phenomena  sagely  discussed  the  causes 
which  precipitated  so  marked  an  upheaval.  They 
cited  scores  of  reasons — none  surmised  the  truth. 

No  one  knew  that  once  upon  a  time  a  little  girl 
in  a  blue  sailor  suit  was  leaning  over  the  rail  of  a 
bridge,  and  that  a  boy  drove  by  and  recovered  her 
hat  from  the  water.  Yet  that  had  everything  to  do 
with  the  Wall  Street  excitement  of  the  day. 

None  of  the  wise  writers  knew  that  a  shot  fired 
by  a  hunter  caused  a  runaway  and  a  rescue — yet  that 
shot  had  more  to  do  with  the  hurricane  in  Wall 
Street  than  all  the  reasons  that  wisdom  ascribed. 

None  of  the  students  of  finance  knew  of  the 
day  when  the  "Standish"  rose  and  fell  to  the  slow 
heaving  of  the  sea;  of  that  hot  August  afternoon 
when  a  boy  of  Rocky  Woods  laid  his  heart  and  his 
life  at  the  disposition  of  a  soft-eyed  girl.  None  of 
them  knew  of  an  interview  in  the  night  shadows 
under  the  old  maples,  when  two  soft  arms  were 
thrown  about  John  Hurt's  neck  and  a  cheek  wet  with 
tears  rested  for  an  instant  against  his. 

There  is  no  such  thing  as  accurate  history,  but 
if  one  were  written,  it  would  be  recorded  that  events, 
dynasties  and  epochs  have  been  created  either  by 
the  love  of  a  man  for  a  woman,  or  by  the  devotion 
of  a  woman  for  a  man. 

399 


CHAPTER        THIRTY-FIVE 

EDITH'S  CONFESSION 


papers  say  Mr.  Morris  will  be  arrested! 
JL  It's  awful,  Jessie  !  Look  at  the  big  head- 
lines! I  don't  understand  half  they  say, 
but  it  seems  that  Mr.  Morris  and  Mr.  Blake  are 
rivals  on  Wall  Street,  and  that  Mr.  Morris  has 
fallen  into  a  trap  set  by  Mr.  Blake.  Oh,  Jessie, 
think  of  it,  that  we  dined  with  both  of  them  last 
night,  and  they  seemed  as  friendly  and  polite  as  if 
they  were  bosom  friends  !  Isn't  it  awful?  " 

Edith  Hancock's  cheeks  were  reddened  with 
excitement  as  she  dashed  into  her  cousin's  room. 
They  formed  a  dainty  picture  of  maidenly  health 
and  grace,  these  two,  as  they  scanned  the  lines  before 
them. 

"  Mr.  Blake  was  here  while  the  general  was  at 
breakfast,"  she  gabbled  on,  breathlessly.  "They 
talked  a  minute  and  then  he  hurried  away.  Your 
father  put  some  papers  in  his  pocket  and  started 
down  town  at  once.  Do  you  suppose  they  will 
fight,  Jessie?" 

"  Who  ?     Papa  and  Mr.  Blake  ?  " 

"No,  Miss  Stupid;  Mr.  Blake  and  Mr. 
Morris." 

Edith  pouted  her  pretty  lips  and  gently  cuffed 
Jessie's  cheek. 

"We  needn't  hope  for  anything  so  romantic," 
returned  that  untroubled  maiden,  laying  the  papers 
aside  and  deftly  fastening  an  ornament  in  her  dark 
400 


EDITH'S       CONFESSION 

tresses.  "Wouldn't  Mr.  Morris  make  a  heroic  figure 
in  a  duel?  No,  Edith,  there's  no  field  of  honor 
nowadays — only  Wall  Street.  I've  no  doubt  Arthur 
Morris  would  rather  lose  blood  than  money.  Oh, 
I  hope  Mr.  Blake  will  despoil  him  of  the  millions 
he  has  taken  from  others.  Think  of  the  misery  his 
fortune  has  cost  1  It  ruined  my  father — and  he 
dared  to  sneer  at  me  last  night.  Edith,  it's  God's 
vengeance — not  Mr.  Blake's." 

"Jessie,  why  was  he  such  a  brute  with  you 
last  night?"  Edith  glanced  at  Jessie  out  of  the 
corners  of  her  wide-opened  eyes. 

"  Can't  you  guess?" 

"Did  you  refuse  him?  Honest? — no  joking. 
Oh,  I'm  so  glad!  Do  you  know,  Jessie,  I  was 
awfully  afraid  you  intended  to  accept  him  ?  " 

"  I  should  be  very  sorry  if  he  had  been  honest, 
but  he's  a  cad  and  a  thief,"  declared  Jessie,  her 
dark  eyes  flashing  scorn.  "Thank  heaven,  he  is 
pow  ;riess  to  do  us  harm  now.  Did  you  notice  how 
happy  papa  was  last  night?  I  made  him  tell  me 
his  secret.  Listen,  Edith !  It  is  possible  that  Mr. 
Blake  will  be  able  to  restore  to  papa  a  large  share 
of  his  fortune.  There's  a  chance  that  we  may  again 
live  in  the  dear  old  Boston  home.  Isn't  it  splen- 
did, Edith?" 

"Splendid  I  It's  more  than  splendid— it's 
heavenly!"  exclaimed  Edith.  "Isn't  Mr.  Blake 
lovely  ?  And  he's  so  big  and  handsome,  and  gen- 
erous, and  good-looking,  and  manly,  and— and 

401 


JOHN  BURT 

everything.  I  just  love  him,  Jessie,  don't  you  ? " 
She  looked  closely  at  Jessie  Garden. 

"I— I  like  him,  Edith.  It  wouldn't  do  for 
both  of  us  to  love  him,  fvould  it,  cousin  mine  ?  " 

"  He  loves  you,"  protested  Edith,  with  a  blush. 
"  I  know  he  does.  He  never  takes  his  eyes  from 
you.  I  watched  him  last  evening.  Are  you  sure 
you  don't  love  him,  Jessie,  just  a  little  bit?" 

"Quite  sure,"  laughed  Jessie,  as  the  roses  came 
to  her  cheeks.  "  I  can  only  love  one  man  at  a  time 
— it's  conventional,  but  it's  true." 

"You  still  love  John  Burt?"  The  big  eyes 
opened  wide  as  Edith  looked  questioningly  at  her 
cousin.  "  What  a  foolish  little  sweetheart  you  are, 
wasting  your  life  on  a  man  you  haven't  heard  from 
for  years !  You  were  a  child  then ;  you're  a  woman 
now.  You're  jesting,  Jessie ;  don't  reject  Mr. 
Blake." 

"  It's  not  likely  I  shall  have  a  chance,"  said 
Jessie.  The  little  face  had  grown  very  serious.  "  I 
sincerely  hope  not,  Edith.  John  Burt  is  not  dead, 
and  he  has  not  forgotten  me.  He  will  return,  and, 
rich  or  poor,  my  faith  is  in  him.  Do  you  know, 
,  Edith,  just  before  our  carriage  was  blocked  last 
'.  night  I  saw  a  man  walking  down  the  avenue,  in  the 
full  glare  of  a  street  lamp.  I  could  have  sworn  it 
was  John  Burt.  Do  you  remember  I  clutched  your 
arm  and  pointed  out  of  the  window  ?  I  know  he'll 
come  back,  and  when  he  does  he'll  find  me  true." 

"It  might  have  been  his  ghost,"  said  Edith. 

tfO, 


EDITH'S       CONFESSION 

"If  so,  it  was  a  remarkably  active  ghost," 
laughed  Jessie.  "  He  was  walking  rapidly,  with 
his  shoulders  thrown  back,  and  when  I  saw  his  face 
I  could  hardly  keep  from  calling  his  name  at  the 
top  of  my  voice.  Wasn't  it  odd,  Edith?  " 

"  But,  Jessie,  if  John  Hurt's  in  the  city  why 
doesn't  he  come  to  see  you?" 

11  He  may  not  know  that  I'm  here,"  returned 
Jessie  quickly.  "  He  Inay  have  just  learned  that 
Arthur  fylorris  is  not  dead,  and  he  may — he  may  be 
searching  for  us." 

There  was  a  trustful  light  in  the  deep  brown 
eyes  and  a  longing  smile  touched  the  tender  lips. 
Edith's  face  was  lighted  with  joy  as  she  clasped 
her  cousin's  hands. 

"  You're  the  dearest  darling  in  the  world,  and 
,  no  man  is  good  enough  for  you,"  she  exclaimed. 
"John  Burt  will  return;  I'm  sure  of  it,  and  he'll  be 
proud  of  you.  But,  Jessie,  you  must  not  let  Mr. 
Blake  propose  to  you.  You  won't,  will  you,  Jessie  ?" 
The  voice  was  pleading  in  its  earnestness. 

"Why?"  asked  Jessie  in  surprise. 

"  Because — "  and  Edith  faltered.  She  lowered 
her  eyes  in  confusion,  but  when  she  looked  again  in 
Jessie's  face  they  flamed  with  passion. 

"  Oh,  Jessie,  can't  you  understand  ?  I'm  jealous 
of  you,  horribly,  madly  jealous,"  and  she  threw  her- 
self sobbing  on  her  cousin's  breast.  "  I  know  it's 
not  your  fault  that  he  loves  you,  but  you  can  make 
him  stop.  Please  make  him  stop.  If  it  wasn't  for 

401 


JOHN  BURT 

you  he  would  love  me.  Tell  him — tell  him  anything 
so  that  he  will  know  that  you  don't  love  him  1  Oh, 
Jessie — won't  you?" 

"What  can  I  tell  him?"  asked  Jessie  in^amaze- 
ment.  "  I  can't  make  him  propose  and  then  com- 
mend him  to  another.  But,  Edith,  darling,  I'm  so 
sorry,  so  awfully  sorry!" 

When  Jessie  could  command  herself  she  asked 
if  Edith  really  loved  Jim. 

"I  loved  him  the  moment  I  saw  him,  and  he  fell 
in  love  with  you  at  the  same  instant,"  declared 
Edith  Hancock,  whose  intuition  had  told  her  the 
truth.  "Make  him  stop,  Jessie;  you  can  find  some 
way  to  do  it ;  I  know  you  can.  Oh,  why  are  people 
always  falling  in  love  with  those  who  don't  love 
them,  and  are  blind  to  those  who  love  them  to 
death?" 

Jessie  could  not  answer  that  world-old  question, 
and  vainly  attempted  to  soothe  her.  In  anger  and 
mortification  Edith  rushed  from  the  room,  and  when 
Jessie  knocked  at  her  door  a  few  minutes  later  there 
was  no  response  but  the  muffled  sound  of  sobs. 


404 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-SIX 

TALE  OF  THE  TICKER 

A  THOUSAND  men  were  scattered  through 
the  hall  of  the  New  York  Stock  Exchange. 
There  were  groups  of  three,  five,  ten,  a  score3 
and  one  compact  mass  of  a  hundred  or  more  brokers. 
Moving  like  shuttles  between  these  irregular  knots 
of  humanity  were  individual  members — some  slow 
and  calm,  others  hurried  and  excited.  Blue-uni- 
formed messenger-boys  added  a  tinge  of  color  to 
the  mottled  shades  from  gray  to  black.  The  laugh- 
ing faces  and  shrill  cries  of  this  modern  progeny  of 
Mercury  were  sharp  in  contrast  to  the  stern  earnest- 
ness and  hoarse  roar  of  those  they  served. 

The  clicking  of  innumerable  telegraph  instru- 
ments, the  tinkle  of  telephone  bells,  the  shuffling  of 
feet  in  the  encircling  galleries,  the  distant  murmur 
of  street  traffic,  all  blended  with  the  noises  from  the 
floor  into  a  chord  which  held  the  majesty  of  bass  and 
the  thrill  of  soprano. 

As  the  hand  of  the  great  clock  slowly  crawled 
to  the  point  that  marked  the  hour  of  ten,  the  vari- 
ous groups  compressed  and  assumed  rounded  out- 
lines. While  the  last  minute  was  speeding  by,  a 
silence  came,  broken  only  by  the  chattering  tele- 
graph keys. 

A  gong  sounded.  Its  reverberations  were  lost 
in  the  vocal  explosion  from  a  thousand  lungs.  A 
regiment  of  men  stricken  with  violent  insanity- 
shouting,  snarling,  barking,  clawing,  fighting,  glar- 
es 


JOHN  BURT 

ing — such  was  the  scene  on  the  floor  of  the  exchange 
the  morning  following  the  defeat  of  the  Cosmopoli- 
tan ordinances. 

A  moment  later  and  the  acts  of  these  seeming 
maniacs  were  flashed  around  the  world.  While  the 
echoes  of  the  initial  outburst  yet  filled  the  room, 
men  in  Boston,  Chicago,  New  Orleans,  San  Fran- 
cisco, London  and  Berlin,  were  scanning  the  open- 
ing quotations  which  had  boiled  to  the  surface  from 
this  seething  cauldron. 

The  madness  was  sanity. 

The  chaos  was  order. 

The  frenzy  was  calmness. 

The  furor  was  judgment. 

Into  this  crucible  was  being  poured  the  col- 
lected opinion  of  the  financial  world.  A  million 
miles  of  metallic  nerves  focused  in  this  centre  and 
throbbed  with  the  earth's  history  for  the  day.  Rain 
on  the  wheat  fields  of  Argentine,  drought  on  the 
steppes  of  Russia,  the  death  of  a  banker  in  Berlin, 
a  failure  in  Omaha,  a  strike  on  a  western  railroad,  a 
rumor  of  a  coming  Congressional  report,  a  rise  in 
English  consuls,  the  appearance  of  a  new  insect  in 
Kansas,  an  area  of  low  barometer  in  Manitoba,  the 
sickness  of  a  king,  the  raising  of  a  freight  rate,  the 
echoes  of  a  battle  in  the  Soudan,  the  result  of  a 
municipal  election,  the  speech  of  an  obscure  alder- 
man— all  hurled  their  weight  into  these  delicate 
scales  and  vibrated  the  needle  which  recorded 
values. 
406 


TALE      OF     THE      TICKER 

To  these  was  added  the  impact  of  human  pas- 
sions— revenge,  treachery,  cunning,  caution,  judg- 
ment, daring,  stupidity,  avarice. 

Wall  Street  is  a  mundane  incarnation  of  the 
terrors  of  hell,  relieved  by  some  of  the  joys  of 
heaven. 

John  Burt  was  in  his  office  at  eight  o'clock, 
and  Mr.  Hawkins  and  James  Blake  joined  him  a 
few  minutes  later. 

"  Good  morning,  Jim,"  said  John,  extending 
his  hand,  which  Blake  grasped  cordially.  "  Isn't 
this  a  glorious  day?  See  the  sun  of  Austerlitz." 

John  pointed  to  a  broad  shaft  of  light  which 
streamed  across  his  desk  and  illumined  the  bright 
colors  of  stacks  of  stock  certificates. 

"  You  look  fit  for  the  day's  work,  Jim,"  he 
said.  "Your  eye  is  clear  and  you  look  as  if  you 
had  your  fighting  clothes  on." 

"  I'm  feeling  splendid,"  declared  Blake.  "  Never 
felt  better  in  my  life.  We  will  win,  John  !  I  know 
it,  and  can  hardly  wait  for  the  row  to  begin." 

"Now  you're  talking  business,"  roared  Mr. 
Hawkins.  "That  sounds  like  the  old  Jim  Blake  I 
knew  out  in  California.  I'd  began  to  think  that 
these  New  York  dudes  had  made  an  old  woman 
out  of  you.  We'll  hang  some  of  their  pelts  on  our 
back  fence  before  the  sun  goes  down — eh,  boys?" 
and  he  rested  his  giant  palms  on  the  shoulders 
of  his  younger  companions  and  shook  the  room 
with  a  defiant  rumble  of  laughter. 

407 


JOHN  BURT 

"Is  General  Garden  here?"  asked  John. 

"  He's  in  my  room,"  replied  Blake. 

"  Give  him  the  cash  for  that  L.  &  O.  check 
and  have  him  present  the  option  at  Randolph  Mor- 
ris &  Company  the  moment  they  are  open  for  bank- 
ing business,"  instructed  John  Burt.  "  Bid  L.  & 
O.  above  twenty-seven  until  General  Garden  has 
the  stock  in  his  possession.  Send  two  witnesses 
along  with  him.  That  will  prevent  any  chance  for 
a  quibble.  When  he  comes  back  with  the  stock, 
turn  it  over  to  me." 

"  Aye,  aye,  General  Burton  !  "  exclaimed  Blake 
with  a  profound  salute.  He  seemed  in  high  spirits 
as  he  left  the  room. 

"  Blake's  all  right  this  morning,"  observed 
Hawkins.  "  Guess  he's  recovered  from  his  attacks 
of  mullygrubs.  What  the  devil  d'ye  suppose  has 
been  the  matter  with  him,  John?  Has  he  been 
speculating  on  his  own  account  and  lost?" 

"  I  don't  know  that  he  has,"  said  John,  appar- 
ently absorbed  in  the  study  of  the  early  London 
and  Berlin  quotations.  "  Jim  hasn't  made  a  deal  on 
his  own  account,  to  my  knowledge,  since  we  opened 
these  offices." 

"  Probably  a  woman,"  growled  John  Hawkins. 
"When  a  man  can't  get  into  financial  trouble  he 
gets  tangled  up  with  a  woman.  If  it  wasn't  for 
women  and  money  this  world  would  be  fit  to  live 
in — eh,  John?" 

But  John  seemed  so  completely  wrapped  up  in 
408 


TALE      OF     THE     TICKER 

a  computation  that  he  did  not  heed  the  cynical 
question.  Mr.  Hawkins  jammed  his  hands  into  his 
pockets,  sauntered  to  the  window,  and,  in  a  voice 
like  the  hum  of  a  dynamo,  sang  all  he  knew  of 
"  Sweet  Alice,  Ben  Bolt."  There  was  a  gentler 
light  beneath  his  shaggy  eyebrows  when  he  took 
his  seat  near  John  Burt. 

Let  us  look  in  on  another  scene. 

There  was  no  outward  sign  of  excitement  in 
the  offices  of  Randolph  Morris  &  Company.  A 
larger  throng  than  usual  crowded  around  the  tick- 
ers and  gazed  at  the  opening  quotations.  Not  a 
few  of  these  speculators  had  blindly  followed  the 
lead  of  Arthur  Morris,  and  yet  had  faith  in  the 
power  of  his  millions.  Morris  took  personal  com- 
mand of  his  brokers  on  the  floor  of  the  Stock  Ex- 
change. 

"  It  won't  be  much  of  a  shower,"  he  said  to 
his  followers,  with  airy  bravado.  "  Hang  on  to  your 
stocks ;  we'll  pass  those  ordinances  yet.  This  fel- 
low Rounds  is  a  liar,  and  I'll  prove  it.  Blake  hired 
him  to  turn  that  trick.  I  control  Cosmopolitan 
and  am  able  to  protect  it  against  all  the  liars  and 
swindlers  from  San  Francisco  to  New  York." 

Cosmopolitan  opened  at  a  loss  of  several  points, 
but  the  selling  by  Blake  brokers  was  not  so  heavy 
as  had  been  expected,  and  the  stock  rallied  when 
given  support  by  Morris  and  others  interested  with 
him.  The  young  millionaire  speedily  regained  his 
courage. 


JOHN  BURT 

"  Bid  'em  up ;  bid  'em  up ! "  he  whispered  to  his 
head  broker.  "  We've  got  the  Blake  crowd  on  the 
run  already!  They  dare  not  sell.  Take  all  they 
offer  and  bid  for  more !  " 

The  man  dashed  into  a  pack  of  traders,  and  in 
the  roar  of  voices  which  followed  Cosmopolitan 
soared  two  points  above  its  previous  mark. 

It  was  only  a  moment  past  ten  o'clock  when 
General  Garden  walked  briskly  up  the  marble  steps 
and  entered  the  Morris  building.  Two  clerks  in 
the  employ  of  James  Blake  &  Company  were  with 
him.  He  stopped  at  the  outer  railing  and  ad- 
dressed Mr.  Mason,  the  Vice-President  of  the  com- 
pany. 

"  I  should  like  to  speak  to  Mr.  Morris,"  said 
the  general. 

11  He  is  not  here,"  replied  Mr.  Mason.  "  What 
can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

"Accept  my  written  resignation,"  said  General 
Garden.  Mr.  Mason  took  the  letter,  bowed  coldly, 
but  said  nothing. 

u  I  hold  an  option  on  ten  thousand  shares  of 
L.  &  O.  stock,"  continued  the  general,  producing 
an  envelope  from  an  inside  pocket. 

"Yes?"  Mr.  Mason  raised  his  eyes  with  a 
faint  show  of  interest,  and  tapped  the  brass  rail 
with  a  pencil.  "So  I  understand,  General  Garden." 

"Under  its  terms  I  can  take  up  the  stock  at  a 
stipulated  figure,  provided  the  market  price  is  above 
twenty-six  dollars  a  share." 
410 


TALE     OF     THE     TICKER 

"That  is  the  agreement.  You  owe  us  about 
two  hundred  and  eighty  thousand  dollars  on  that 
stock,  General  Garden.  Do  you  wish  to  pay  it  to- 
day?" 

A  sarcastic  smile  played  around  the  corners  of 
Mr.  Mason's  mouth. 

"I  do.  I  demand  the  stock  and  will  meet  the 
terms  in  cash." 

"Very  well,  General  Garden,  it  can  quickly  be 
arranged." 

There  was  no  change  of  expression  on  the  grave 
face  of  the  banker  as  he  turned  to  a  clerk  and 
ordered  him  to  produce  the  stock  from  the  vaults. 
Mr.  Mason  glanced  at  the  option  and  made  a  rapid 
calculation. 

"  Two  hundred  and  eighty-two  thousand,  four 
hundred  and  sixty-seven  dollars  and  seventeen  cents," 
he  said,  passing  over  a  slip  of  paper.  "Is  that  your 
figure?" 

General  Garden  bowed  and  motioned  to  one  of 
his  companions  who  placed  a  satchel  on  the  counter. 
From  its  depths  General  Garden  produced  the 
money  demanded  and  exchanged  it  for  the  stock. 

"I  trust  your  faith  in  the  value  of  these  certifi- 
cates may  not  prove  amiss,"  said  Mr.  Mason  with 
an  icy  smile.  "  I  bid  you  good  day,  sir." 

General  Garden  bowed  gravely  and  turned  to 
the  door.  As  he  did  so  Arthur  Morris  entered,  his 
face  flushed  with  triumph.  In  his  haste  he  ran  into 
General  Garden. 

4" 


JOHN  BURT 

"I  beg  your  pardon  !  Oh,  it's  you,  is  it?"  and 
an  evil  light  came  to  his  eyes.  "  What  in  hell  are 
you  doing  here?  You're  discharged — fired;  d'ye 
understand?  Get  out  of  here  and  keep  out!  Get 
out,  d'ye  hear?" 

Morris  stepped  behind  the  brass  railing  and 
from  that  retreat  shook  his  hand  threateningly  at 
the  man  who  had  aroused  his  rage.  General  Garden 
deliberately  removed  his  glasses  and  walked  towards 
him. 

"  You  are  a  cur  and  a  coward,  Morris !  "  he  said, 
looking  at  the  younger  man  with  blazing  eyes. 
"Lay  a  hand  on  me  if  you  dare!" 

Mr.  Mason  grasped  Morris  by  the  arm  and 
whispered  a  sentence.  With  a  muttered  oath  Mor- 
ris turned  and  left  the  old  soldier  standing  defiantly 
by  the  railing.  A  minute  later  General  Garden 
entered  a  carriage  and  was  driven  rapidly  to  the 
office  of  James  Blake  &  Company. 

In  the  meantime  Morris  had  followed  Mr. 
Mason  to  his  private  office. 

"I'd  like  to  punch  old  Garden's  head,  and  I'd 
have  done  it  hadn't  it  been  for  you!  "  he  declared. 
"What's  he  prowling  around  here  for?  What  did 
he  want?" 

"  He  demanded  his  L.  &  O.  stock,"  replied 
Mr.  Mason. 

"  His  L.  &  O.  stock,"  repeated  Morris.  "  Well, 
what  of  it?  He  didn't  wish  me  to  make  him  a 
present  of  it,  did  he?  I've  given  him  enough.  Old 
41*- 


TALE      OF     THE      TICKER 

Garden  must  be  getting  crazy.  If  he  comes  around 
again  tell  him  to  dig  up  about  three  hundred  thous- 
and dollars  and  he  can  have  his  stock." 

Morris  laughed  as  he  stepped  to  the  ticker. 

"  He  showed  his  option,  demanded  the  stock, 
and  paid  over  the  money,"  said  Mr.  Mason  slowly, 
"  and  I  gave  him  the  certificates." 

"Old  Garden  took  up  his  stock  and  paid  over 
the  money  ?  What  do  you  mean,  Mason  ?  "  Morris 
looked  blankly  at  the  elderly  broker  and  the  tape 
dropped  from  his  fingers. 

"  I  mean  just  what  I  say,  Mr.  Morris,"  was 
the  reply.  "Do  you  know  what  has  happened? 
With  that  stock  you  lose  control  of  L.  &  O.  Some 
one  is  back  of  General  Garden  in  this  transaction. 
You  should  be  able  to  guess  who  it  is  after  what 
has  occurred  in  Cosmopolitan." 

"  Blake !    Blake  I  "    gasped  Morris. 

He  clutched  the  arm  of  his  chair  and  the  mus- 
cles of  his  neck  twitched  nervously.  Pacing  up 
and  down  the  room  he  burst  into  a  storm  of  inco- 
herent profanity.  Mr.  Mason  confronted  him. 

"This  is  no  time  for  such  an  exhibition,"  he 
said,  sternly.  "This  is  a  serious  matter  and  calls 
for  action  not  blasphemy.  Control  yourself,  sir  I " 
The  ticker,  which  had  been  silent,  spluttered 
rapidly,  and  the  ominous  sound  did  more  to  call 
Morris  back  to  his  senses  than  had  the  sober  words 
of  the  broker.  He  lifted  the  tape  and  eagerly 
scanned  the  characters. 

4'S 


JOHN  BURT 

"What's  that?  This  must  be  a  mistake!  It 
can't  be  as  bad  as  that,  don't  you  know !  Five 
hundred  shares  of  L.  &  O.  at  38 !  It  must  mean 
28?"  Morris  gazed  at  the  figures  like  one  in  a 
trance. 

There  came  a  violent  rapping  on  the  door,  and, 
without  waiting  for  a  response,  a  broker  entered. 
His  collar  was  torn  open  and  his  hair  was  rumpled 
and  moist  with  perspiration. 

"  Blake  &  Company  are  bidding  up  L.  &  O.  I " 
he  exclaimed.  "  I've  sold  them  four  thousand 
shares  up  to  35,  and  they  are  yelling  for  more. 
They  say  that  John  Hawkins  is  after  the  stock  for 
the  International.  How  does  it  stand  now?  " 

He  took  the  tape  from  Arthur  Morris's  nerve- 
less hand. 

"Thirty-nine!  Thirty-nine  and  a  half!  Six 
hundred  at  forty !  A  thousand  at  forty-one  I  Some- 
thing's up,  I  tell  you !  What  shall  we  do,  Mr. 
Morris?" 

Morris  gazed  helplessly  at  Mr.  Mason. 

"  What  can  we  do  ?  "  he  asked,  weakly.  For 
hours  his  mind  had  been  full  of  the  dangers  which 
menaced  him  from  Cosmopolitan,  and,  in  the  mo- 
ment of  fancied  triumph,  had  found  himself  at- 
tacked from  an  unexpected  point.  His  brain  was 
in  a  whirl. 

A  heavy  step  was  heard  in  the  hallway  and 
Randolph  Morris  entered  the  room. 

"You've  raised   hell,    haven't  you?"  was  his 

4*4 


TALE      OF     THE     TICKER 

greeting  to  his  son  and  heir.  "  I  told  you  to  keep 
your  nose  out  of  this  Cosmopolitan  business. 
You've  made  a  fine  mess  of  it!  I  suppose  you 
think,  because  the  bottom  hasn't  fallen  out  of  Cos- 
mopolitan, that  you're  all  right,  don't  ye?  Been 
supporting  it,  haven't  ye?  Of  course  you  have. 
You're  an  ass  I  Admit  it,  and  take  your  losses. 
It  was  the  first  thing  I  saw  when  I  opened  the 
paper  this  morning,  and  I've  come  to  the  city 
in  order  to  prevent  you  making  as  many  kinds  of 
an  idiot  of  yourself  as  you  are  capable  of.  Hov» 
much  of  that  rotten  stock  have  you  bought?  I'll 
bet  this  damn  fool  play  will  cost  more  than  a 
million." 

Randolph  Morris  mopped  his  face  with  a 
handkerchief,  and  reposed  his  ponderous  bulk  in  an 
easy  chair. 

"What's  the  matter  with  all  of  you?"  he  de- 
manded. "  Have  you  lost  your  tongues  as  well  as 
your  senses?" 

"  Tell  him  about  this  business,"  said  Arthur 
Morris,  sullenly  turning  to  Mr.  Mason. 

In  a  few  words  the  latter  explained  what  had 
occurred  in  L.  &  O.  The  old  millionaire's  face 
was  a  study  during  this  hurried  recital. 

The  look  of  anger  changed  to  one  of  per- 
plexity and  then  to  fear.  The  millions  amassed  in 
a  lifetime  were  menaced  in  his  old  age,  and  the 
fires  of  defence  and  defiance  blazed  again  in  the 
eyes  of  Randolph  Morris. 

4'5 


JOHN  BURT 

Rising  ponderously  from  his  chair,  he  took  a 
place  by  the  ticker.  The  ship  of  the  Morris  for- 
tunes was  drifting  towards  the  rocks,  and,  aroused 
from  his  slumbers,  the  old  pilot  again  grasped  the 
wheel.  His  eyes  were  not  as  clear  as  in  the  days 
when  the  craft  was  new,  but  his  hand  was  steady  and 
his  courage  high. 

"  How  much  L.  &  O.  have  you  ? "  he  de- 
manded. 

"Thirty-five  thousand  shares,"  replied  Mr. 
Mason. 

"  How  many  have  you  sold?"  addressing  his 
son.  Arthur  Morris  hesitated. 

"Speak  up!"  he  thundered,  with  an  oath. 
"  How  many  have  you  sold?" 

"About  seventy-five  thousand." 

"  Hu-m-m-m.  Fine  outlook  !  Forty  thousand 
shares  short  on  a  stock,  with  only  a  hundred  thous- 
and shares  in  all,"  growled  Randolph  Morris. 

Great  beads  of  perspiration  stood  on  his  fore- 
head.    "  Blake  and   Hawkins  probably  hold  more 
than  fifty  thousand  between  them.     They've  got  us 
cornered  I     There's  only  one  chance  in  a  hundred  ( 
for  us  to  get  out,  but  I'll  take  it.    I  know  old  Haw-1 
kins  too  well  to  think  that  he  is  taking  any  risks. 
By  God,  if  I   pull  out  of  this  thing  with  a  dollar 
I'll   place    it  where  you  can't  find  it  with  a  set  of 
burglar's  tools!" 

Randolph  Morris  glared  at  his  son,  fumbled  for 
his  glasses  and  bent  over  the  tape. 
416 


TALE      OF      THE      TICKER 

"  Fifty-five  bid  for  L.  &  O.,"  it  read.  "Bid 
sixty  for  any  part  of  ten  thousand  shares.  Gimme 
that  telephone !  Go  to  the  exchange,  Mason,  and 
get  on  the  other  end  of  this  wire  and  I'll  give  you 
the  orders.  Run  out  doors,  Arthur,  and  play  with 
the  children.  This  is  a  man's  job.  Get  out  of  here 
— I  don't  want  you  around !  " 

"I'll  stay  right  here,"  said  Arthur  Morris  de- 
fiantly, his  face  purple  with  mortification  and  rage. 
Absorbed  in  his  study  of  the  figures  which  reeled 
from  the  ticker,  Randolph  Morris  made  no  reply. 

A  thousand  thoughts  came  to  the  old  financier 
as  with  set  features  he  studied  the  characters  which 
read  his  ruin.  He  recalled  his  boyhood  struggles 
for  a  foothold  on  the  ladder  of  fortune ;  the  painful 
climb  to  the  first  resting-place  above  the  dull  level 
of  poverty ;  the  successive  advances  through  com- 
fort and  prosperity  to  affluence,  and  then  the  rapid 
ascent  to  financial  pre-eminence.  And  now  the  earth 
crumbled  beneath  his  feet,  and  he  felt  himself  slip- 
ping over  the  precipice  of  bankruptcy! 

With  a  cruel  smile  on  his  thin  lips  he  had 
pushed  others  over  the  brink  on  which  he  now  was 
poised.  With  a  cold  heart  he  had  been  deaf  to  all 
pleadings  for  mercy,  and  knew  full  well  that  none 
would  be  extended  to  him.  He  cursed  the  hour 
when  his  son  was  born.  He  had  begotten  a  fool  who 
had  fallen  into  the  trap  he  had  fashioned  and  set 
years  before  Arthur  Morris  was  born. 

The  ticker  was  singing  a  weird  refrain  and  the 

4J7 


JOHN  BURT 

telephone  added  its  note  of  despair.  When  the 
Morris  brokers  changed  from  sellers  to  buyers  a 
wild  scene  took  place  on  the  floor  of  the  Exchange. 
Only  a  few  hundred  shares  were  secured,  when 
representatives  of  James  Blake  &  Company  raised 
the  bids  to  seventy.  The  stock  was  at  par  before 
the  Morris  interests  had  been  able  to  buy  a  thous- 
and shares.  It  was  generally  known  that  Arthur 
Morris  was  heavily  short  on  L.  &  O.  and  ominous 
rumors  were  in  circulation. 

Shortly  before  noon  a  news  agency  made  public 
a  statement  which  hastened  the  crisis.  The  printed 
slip  read  as  follows; 

Mr.  John  Hawkins  of  San  Francisco,  the  well-known 
magnate  and  President  of  the  International  Railroad 
Company,  has  issued  the  following  statement  from  the 
office  of  James  Blake  &  Company  : 

"Interests  identified  with  the  International  Railroad 
Company  have  purchased  control  of  the  stock  of  the  L. 
&  O.  Railroad  Company,  which  will  be  merged  with  the 
former  corporation. 

JOHN  HAWKINS." 

A  few  minutes  later  another  bulletin  was  issued 
It  read : 

The  deal  in  L.  &  O.  was  engineered  by  Mr.  James 
Blake,  the  dashing  young  operator  whose  advent  in  New 
York  was  signalized  by  the  recent  upheaval  in  prices. 
For  several  weeks  Mr.  Blake  has  quietly  been  absorbing 
blocks  of  L.  &  O.  To-day  he  secured  ten  thousand 
shares  from  General  Marshall  Garden,  which,  with  the 
holdings  of  Mr.  John  Hawkins  gives  the  syndicate  of 
which  Mr.  Blake  is  the  head  absolute  control  of  this 
valuable  property.  Another  railroad  company  has  been 

418 


TALE      OF     THE     TICKER 

a  bidder  for  control,  but  the  Garden  stock  gives  Mr. 
Blake  the  coveted  advantage. 

It  is  rumored  that  a  well-known  and  powerful  banking 
house  is  short  this  stock  to  the  amount  of  nearly  forty 
thousand  shares.  It  opened  at  29*4  and  rapidly  advanced 
to  75,  and  then  by  leaps  and  bounds  reached  125.  Il  is 
believed  that  only  a  few  scattered  shares  are  yet  in  the 
market,  and  that  the  stock  is  cornered. 

At  this  writing  a  violent  slump  in  Cosmopolitan  is  in 
progress.  The  concern  which  is  supposed  to  be  short  in 
L.  &  O.  has  been  active  in  the  support  of  Cosmopolitan 
and  kindred  stocks,  and  it  is  assumed  that  it  is  unable  to 
protect  them.  Cosmopolitan  abruptly  declined  from  37  to 
22  and  seems  absolutely  without  support. 

Later. — //  is  rumored  that  the  banking  house 
of  Randolph  Morris  &  Company  has  sus- 
pended. 


CHAPTER        THIRTY-SEVEN 

FATHER  AND  SON 

ONE  by  one  the  directors  of  the  bank  had 
entered  the  room  where  Randolph  Morris 
was  making  his  fight  against  overwhelming 
odds.  Some  he  recognized  by  an  almost  impercep- 
tible bow,  but  no  words  came  from  his  lips  as  he 
bent  over  the  tape.  The  faces  of  the  directors  were 
pale  and  drawn  from  tension. 

It  was  like  a  scene  in  a  death  chamber.  A  vast 
fortune  was  in  its  agonies,  and  the  mourners  moved 
noiselessly  about  the  room  or  stood  in  groups  and 
conversed  in  whispers. 

With  his  hands  thrust  deep  into  his  pockets, 
his  head  bowed  and  an  unlighted  cigarette  between 
his  lips,  Arthur  Morris  paced  up  and  down  the 
room.  Not  once  did  he  glance  in  the  direction  of 
his  father. 

When  L.  &  O.  had  mounted  to  eighty  dollars 
a  share,  Randolph  Morris  changed  his  tactics  and 
attempted  to  check  the  rise  by  throwing  all  his 
holdings  on  the  market.  In  less  than  an  hour  he 
hurled  thirty-five  thousand  shares  into  the  specula- 
tive whirlpool. 

It  was  like  stemming  Niagara  with  a  straw. 
The  price  did  not  sag.  The  powerful  interests 
back  of  L.  &  O.  pledged  three  millions  of  dollars 
for  this  stock  and  clamored  for  more.  The  firm  of 
Randolph  Morris  &  Company  yet  lacked  nearly 
forty  thousand  shares  with  which  to  meet  their  con- 


FATHER       AND        SON 

tracts.  In  addition  to  this  they  had  agreed  to  pay 
forty  dollars  a  share  for  sixty  thousand  shares  of 
Cosmopolitan  which  was  then  being  offered  for 
twenty-five  dollars  a  share. 

In  the  language  of  stock  gambling  they  were 
"whip-sawed."  They  had  sold  good  stocks  and 
bought  worthless  ones. 

In  response  to  a  demand  for  margins,  Randolph 
Morris  deposited  several  millions  in  cash  and  valid 
securities.  Alarmed  by  rumors,  patrons  of  the  bank 
formed  in  long  lines  and  demanded  their  deposits. 
The  ticker  continued  to  sing  its  remorseless  refrain. 
L.  &  O.  climbed  to  dizzy  heights  and  Cosmopolitan 
dropped  point  by  point.  Every  unit  of  advance  in 
the  former  meant  a  loss  of  $40,000 ;  every  decline  of 
a  point  in  Cosmopolitan  subtracted  $60,000  from 
the  Morris  fortunes. 

There  was  no  gleam  of  hope,  but  grim  in  de- 
feat the  old  banker  stood  by  the  wheel  and  watched 
the  ship  of  his  fortunes  as  she  swiftly  neared  the 
reefs  of  ruin. 

A  clerk  entered  and  handed  to  Randolph  Mor- 
ris the  yellow  slip  of  paper  containing  the  statement 
i made  by  John  Hawkins.     He  read  it  slowly,  crum- 
pled it  in  his  hands  and  threw  it  on  the  floor. 

Grasping  his  massive  gold-headed  cane  he 
brought  it  down  on  the  glass  dome  which  covered 
the  delicate  mechanism  of  the  ticker.  One  of  the 
flying  fragments  cut  his  cheek  and  a  few  drops  of 
blood  slowly  trickled  down  his  face. 

421 


JOHN  BURT 

"The  corporation  of  Randolph  Morris  &  Com- 
pany is  bankrupt ! "  he  said,  rising  to  his  feet  and 
looking  into  the  faces  of  his  astounded  associates. 
"The  Board  of  Directors  will  convene  at  once  and 
take  formal  action  to  that  effect.  Be  seated,  gen- 
tlemen, and  come  to  order.  We  will  dispense  with 
the  reading  of  the  minutes  of  the  last  meeting. 
You  may  make  the  motion  for  suspension,  Mr. 
Mason." 

The  wrecked  ticker  was  silent  forever.  Its 
broken  wheels  and  springs  responded  no  longer  to 
the  electrical  impulse  which  made  it  instinct  with 
life — the  tale-bearer  of  fortune  or  of  disaster. 

A  shaft  of  sunlight  glinted  the  broken  glass. 
A  louder  roar  came  from  the  Stock  Exchange,  but 
it  presaged  nothing  to  the  men  who  were  gathered 
in  the  inner  office  of  Randolph  Morris  &  Company. 

The  formality  of  declaring  a  suspension  of  the 
bank  was  soon  ended.  The  word  was  passed  to  the 
clerks,  and  the  glass  windows  before  the  paying 
tellers  were  closed  in  the  faces  of  those  who  were 
demanding  their  deposits.  A  moan  of  rage  and 
despair  went  up  from  the  long  line,  but  officers 
cleared  the  room  and  an  employe  tacked  a  notice  of 
suspension  on  the  great  oaken  doors. 

When  Randolph  Morris  adjourned  the  direc- 
tors' meeting  he  looked  about  for  his  son  but  he 
was  not  in  the  room.  He  found  Arthur  Morris 
within  the  caged  enclosure  occupied  by  the  paying 
teller.  In  his  hands  were  several  packages  of  money. 

432 


FATHER       AND        SON 

"What  are  you  doing  there?"  demanded  Ran- 
dolph Morris. 

"  Cashing  a  check,"  was  the  sullen  reply. 

"You're  a  thief  as  well  as  a  fool,"  roared  Ran- 
dolph Morris,  his  hand  on  the  door  and  his  features 
convulsed  with  passion.  "  No  officer  of  a  bank  on 
the  point  of  suspension  has  a  right  to  accept  or  with- 
draw funds,  and  you  know  it." 

He  grabbed  Arthur  Morris  by  the  shoulder 
ana  dragged  him  through  the  narrow  door-way. 

"  My  curse  goes  with  that  money?"  he  shouted, 
his  face  convulsed  with  rage.  "You  have  dragged 
me  down  to  shame  and  poverty  in  my  old  age.  I  hope, 
by  God,  that  everything  you  buy  with  that  money 
will  give  you  pain  !  I  don't  know  how  much  you've 
got,  but  you'll  live  too  long  if  you  live  to  spend  it. 
I  wish  to  God—" 

His  voice  was  choked,  the  blood  surged  to  his 
temples,  his  hands  clutched  at  his  throat,  and  with  a 
gasp  for  breath  he  fell  heavily  to  the  floor. 

Before  Arthur  Morris  realized  what  had  hap- 
pened, others  were  by  his  father's  side.  The  stricken 
old  financier  was  borne  to  a  couch  and  simple  re- 
storatives applied.  He  partially  recovered  con- 
sciousness before  a  physician  arrived,  but  again  sank 
into  a  most  alarming  condition. 

"Apoplexy,"  said  the  physician,  in  answer  to  a 
question.  "Is  this  his  first  attack  ?'r  he  asked 
Arthur  Morris. 

"I  don't  know,"  was  the  reply.  "I've  seen 

433 


JOHN  BURT 

the   governor    so   mad    he   couldn't   speak,  several 
times,  but  never  so  bad  as  this." 

As  he  spoke  Randolph  Morris  opened  his 
eyes  and  they  rested  on  his  son. 

"  Take  him  away,"  he  said,  averting  his  eyes. 
"Take  him  away,  and  give  me  a  chance  to  live." 

"  You're  all  right,  governor,"  said  Arthur 
Morris,  as  the  doctor  gave  him  a  signal  to  stay  out 
of  sight.  "  Keep  cool  and  you'll  come  out  on  top. 
I  feel  as  bad  as  you  do  about  it,  but  there's  no  use 
Li  kicking.  Brace  up  and  take  your  medicine  like 
a  man;  we  may  win  out  yet." 

To  which  encouraging  advice  Randolph  Mor- 
ris made  no  reply,  and  the  son  left  the  room,  after 
vainly  attempting  to  persuade  the  physician  to  re- 
move the  patient  to  his  apartment. 

"  Your  father  must  have  absolute  rest  and 
quiet,"  he  said,  as  he  gave  Arthur  Morris  the  ad- 
dress of  a  private  hospital.  "He  is  out  of  imme- 
diate danger,  but  is  likely  to  have  a  relapse  at  any 
moment.  I  will  advise  you  of  his  condition  and  let 
you  know  when  you  can  see  him." 

As  Randolph  Morris  was  tenderly  carried  down 
the  steps,  through  an  angry  crowd,  and  placed  in  an 
ambulance,  he  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  long- 
ingly at  the  building  which  bore  his  name.  Thus 
he  made  his  last  journey  away  from  the  roar  and 
turmoil  of  Wall  Street ;  a  mental,  physical  and 
financial  wreck,  cast  on  the  shores  of  oblivion  by  a 
storm  terrific  and  unforeseen. 
424 


FATHER       AND        SON 

Arthur  Morris,  stripped  of  all  power  by  the 
action  of  the  directors,  stood  amid  the  wreck  of 
his  fortunes. 

He  was  a  witness  to  the  compromise  by  which 
a  representative  of  James  Blake  &  Company  agreed 
to  terms,  which,  while  protecting  the  depositors, 
called  for  the  sacrifice  of  the  millions  which  once 
stood  in  his  name.  The  fifty  thousand  dollars 
he  had  succeeded  at  the  last  moment  in  drawing 
from  the  bank  was  all  that  was  left  to  him. 

He  thought  of  James  Blake  and  uttered  an 
oath.  He  thought  of  General  Garden,  and  then  of 
Jessie  Garden.  The  money  he  had  lost  had  made 
her  an  heiress.  And  she  would  marry  James  Blake  I 
The  certainty  of  this  was  maddening.  He  thought 
of  the  great  mansion,  of  his  yacht,  the  Voltaire,  of 
a  thousand  vanishing  luxuries  torn  from  him  in  an 
hour,  but  never  once  did  he  think  of  John  Bvrt. 

Morris  was  driven  rapidly  up  town.  Hi?  ears 
were  assailed  by  the  cries  of  newsboys  yelling  the 
jarring  refrain,  "  All  about  the  great  bank  failure !" 
"All  about  Randolph  Morris  &  Co.!" 


42; 


CHAPTER          THIRTY-EIGHT 

BLAKE'S  SACRIFICE 

THROUGH   the   long  hours   of  that  eventful 
day    General   Garden's    eyes  were    fixed   on 
the  stock  board.     Few  of  the  excited  custo- 
mers  of  James  Blake  &  Company  recognized  the 
ex-banker,  and    none  knew  the   reason   for  his  ab- 
sorbing   interest    in   the    fluctuations  of  the  stock 
labeled  L.  &  O. 

His  features  betrayed  little  excitement  while 
the  price  mounted  rapidly  from  thirty  to  fifty,  and 
thence  by  wild  flights  to  par  and  above.  But  his 
heart  was  beating  with  a  great  joy. 

Years  before  he  had  watched  with  agony  the 
steady  decline  which  culminated  in  his  bankruptcy, 
but  now  the  ticker  sang  a  song  of  triumph. 

He  walked  out  into  the  street,  through  the 
hurrying  throngs,  and  strolled  along  the  paths  of 
Battery  Park.  It  was  difficult  to  realize  that  the 
events  of  the  preceding  weeks  were  not  dreams. 

Who  was  this  man  Blake,  and  why  had  he 
offered  to  place  a  fortune  in  his  hand  ?  Why  had 
this  stranger  come  from  out  the  West,  and  by  the 
magic  of  his  touch,  transformed  a  worthless  stock 
into  one  of  so  great  value  that  millionaires  strug- 
gled madly  for  its  possession?  Perhaps  failure 
would  yet  dash  the  cup  of  happiness  from  his  lips? 
The  Morris  interests  were  powerful,  and  General 
Garden  had  witnessed  the  final  collapse  of  many 
ventures  like  Blake's. 
426 


BLAKE      S        SACRIFICE 

When  he  took  his  last  look  at  the  stock  board 
L.  &  O.  was  quoted  at  105.  He  nervously  drew  a 
slip  of  paper  from  his  pocket  and  made  a  rapid 
calculation.  If  Blake  chose  to  realize  at  the  quota- 
tion, General  Garden's  share  of  the  profits  would 
be  nearly  eight  hundred  thousand  dollars.  The 
figures  dazzled  him,  and  he  made  the  calculation 
anew,  only  to  find  it  accurate.  This  represented 
more  than  the  fortune  he  had  lost. 

A  wild  impulse  came  which  urged  him  to  de- 
mand of  Blake  the  sale  of  his  stock.  What  right 
had  he  to  imperil  that  which  would  insure  the  hap- 
piness of  his  daughter  and  the  repose  of  his  old 
age?  Hurriedly  he  retraced  his  steps  until  he 
reached  Broadway,  and  again  he  entered  Blake's 
office. 

An  hour  had  passed,  and  he  hardly  dared  look 
at  the  quotations.  Perhaps  the  deal  had  collapsed  ? 
Perhaps — 

"L.  &  O.  145,  145 #,  146^,"  called  out  the 
man  who  was  reading  the  ticker.  "  Two  thousand 
L.  &O.  at  150!" 

An  exultant  shout  went  up  from  the  crowd  of 
men  who  surrounded  James  Blake.  His  handsome 
face  was  aglow  with  pleasure  as  they  slapped  him  on 
the  back. 

"  My  congratulations,  general,"  Blake  said, 
grasping  the  old  soldier's  hand.  "Our  little  pool 
is  working  splendidly!  Do  you  feel  like  getting 
out  at  150,  general?  I  wouldn't  advise  you  to  do 

427 


JOHN  BURT 

so,  but  if  you  wish  it  can  be  arranged.  I  have  a 
customer  who  will  take  the  stock  off  your  hands  at 
that  figure." 

"I — I  am  entirely  satisfied  to  let  it  alone,"  said 
General  Garden,  drawing  himself  up  proudly. 
"Handle  my  stock  according  to  your  judgment. 
The  subordinate  should  not  question  the  policy  of 
a  victorious  commander." 

"  L.  &  O.  155,"  came  shrilly  from  the  watcher 
at  the  ticker. 

"  Mr.  Burton  wishes  to  see  you,"  whispered  a 
clerk  to  Blake,  and  the  famous  head  of  the  firm 
turned  and  left  General  Garden. 

General  Garden,  like  one  in  a  trance,  watched 
the  quotations  during  the  closing  hours  of  that 
eventful  afternoon.  There  was  no  ebb  in  the  rising 
tide  of  his  fortunes,  but  a  strange  fear  possessed 
him  lest  the  riches  within  reach  of  his  grasp  should 
be  swept  away  by  some  fatal  turn  of  fortune.  But 
pride  was  stronger  than  fear,  and  nerved  by  it  he 
awaited  the  crisis. 

He  saw  the  Morris  millions  crumble  before  the 
impact  of  the  final  charge. 

He  heard  the  shouts  of  victory  and  found  him- 
self shaking  hands  and  laughing  with  strangers.  He 
felt  a  strong  clasp  on  his  shoulder  and  turned  to  see 
James  Blake. 

"We  settle  with  Randolph  Morris  &  Company 
at  175,"  he  whispered.  u  Your  share  of  the  profits 
is  nearly  a  million  and  a  half.  I'll  call  at  your  house 
428 


BLAKE      S        SACRIFICE 

this  evening  and  give  you  a  check  for  the  exact 
amount." 

"  I  can  find  no  words  to  express  my  feelings," 
said  General  Garden,  deeply  affected.  "I  do  not 
think  that  I  am  entitled  to  so  large  a  share  of  these 
profits.  I — I — really  I  do  not  know  what  to  say  to 
you,  Mr.  Blake.  You  have  made  me  the  happiest 
man  in  the  world.  God  bless  and  reward  you." 

u  Don't  thank  me,"  replied  James  Blake. 

A  strange  expression  came  over  his  face  and  a 
look  of  pain  to  his  dark  eyes.  "  I  am  not — I  should 
not — "  He  paused,  released  General  Garden's  hand 
and  turning  abruptly  rushed  across  the  room  and 
vanished  into  an  inner  office. 

In  the  turmoil  of  his  own  feelings  General  Car- 
den  paid  little  attention  to  this  strange  action.  Six 
hours  before  he  had  entered  these  rooms  all  but 
penniless.  He  left  them  more  than  a  millionaire. 

Never  had  the  sun  shone  so  brightly  as  on  that 
glorious  afternoon.  Never  had  Broadway  been 
decked  in  so  regal  a  garb.  The  buildings  which 
once  frowned  upon  him  now  opened  a  grand  per- 
spective to  his  triumphal  march.  The  blood  of 
youth  tingled  in  his  veins.  His  step  was  light,  his 
eyes  bright,  his  head  erect. 

In  a  darkened  room  in  a  remote  quarter  of  the 
city,  a  gray-haired  man  gasped  for  breath  and  moaned 
in  his  delirium,  A  great  financial  battle  had  been 
fought.  Randolph  Morris  was  one  of  the  stricken 
victims,  and  Marshall  Garden  was  one  of  the  victors. 

429 


JOHN  BURT 

In  this  age  of  commercial  and  industrial  barbarism, 
man  must  climb  to  glory  over  the  dead  and  mangled 
bodies  of  the  losers.  Commercial  competition  has 
all  the  horrors  and  none  of  the  chivalry  of  physical 
warfare. 

Thoughts  such  as  these  came  to  John  Burt 
when  the  news  circulated  that  Randolph  Morris  had 
been  stricken  in  his  office.  The  blow  aimed  at  the 
son  had  fallen  with  crushing  force  on  the  father. 
In  the  hour  of  victory  John  Burt  was  silent  and 
sad,  and  John  Hawkins  was  not  slow  to  glean  the 
reason. 

"  I  wouldn't  worry  over  Randolph  Morris,"  he 
said,  with  a  gruffness  which  was  assumed.  4'  The 
old  man  will  recover.  One  stroke  of  apoplexy 
won't  kill  him." 

"  Write  to  Randolph  Morris,"  said  John,  ad- 
dressing Blake,  "  and  say  that  his  personal  property 
is  exempt  in  this  settlement.  He  has  scheduled  it 
as  having  a  value  of  nearly  a  million  dollars.  I 
shall  not  take  it  from  him.  He's  an  old  man,  with 
daughters  and  others  dependent  on  him." 

"Good  for  you,  Burt!"  exclaimed  John  Haw- 
kins. u  It  isn't  business,  but  business  is  hell — as 
old  Sherman  said  about  war.  I'm  going  to  my 
hotel  to  take  a  nap.  Where  can  I  see  you  this 
evening  ?  Dine  with  me  at  the  hotel  at  nine  o'clock. 
What  d'ye  say?  You,  too,  Blake." 

Both  accepted  the  invitation.  For  some  mo- 
ments after  Mr.  Hawkins  had  left  no  word  was 
430 


BLAKE'S        SACRIFICE 

spoken  between  John  Burt  and  James  Blake.  Each 
was  busy  with  his  thoughts,  but  John  broke  the 
silence. 

"  How  did  General  Garden  act  when  he  real- 
ized his  good  fortune?"  he  asked. 

"  He  was  the  happiest  man  I  ever  saw,"  replied 
Blake.  "You  should  have  seen  him,  John!  The 
tears  stood  in  his  eyes  as  he  thanked  me.  I  felt 
like  dropping  through  the  floor." 

"  You  are  to  meet  him  this  evening,  are  you 
not?" 

"  I  am  going  to  give  him  the  check.  Here  it 
is,"  and  he  passed  the  little  strip  of  paper,  eloquent 
in  its  figures,  to  John  for  his  inspection.  John 
glanced  at  it  and  smiled. 

"When  is  Miss  Garden  expected  to  return?" 
he  asked,  quietly. 

"  I'll  try  to  find  out  to-night,"  said  Blake,  look- 
ing his  partner  full  in  the  eyes.  "  My  head  has 
been  so  full  of  stocks  that  I've  thought  of  nothing 
else.  But  I'll  know  all  about  it,  John,  before  I 
meet  you  and  Hawkins  at  dinner.  Perhaps  Jessie 
—or  rather  Miss  Garden— is  back  now.  Who 
knows?  This  is  your  lucky  day,  old  fellow,  and 
all  kinds  of  things  may  happen  before  midnight. 
Wouldn't  it  be  great  if  I  went  up  to  the  Bishop 
house  and  found  her  there?  Of  course  I  wouldn't 
say  a  word  to  spoil  the  surprise  you  have  planned. 
Well,  I  must  be  going.  Hope  I'll  have  good  news 
for  you  when  I  see  you  later." 


JOHN  BURT 

Carefully  replacing  the  precious  check  in  his 
pocketbook,  Blake  left  the  room.  He  managed  to 
evade  the  financial  representatives  of  the  news- 
papers and  was  driven  to  his  apartments. 

Early  in  the  evening  Blake  rang  the  bell  of  the 
Bishop  mansion,  and  was  greeted  by  General  Car- 
den. 

"It  is  a  pleasure,  General  Garden,  to  tender 
you  this  check,  which  represents  your  share  of  the 
profits.  Don't  say  a  word  of  thanks  to  me,  for  I 
do  not  deserve  any  credit.  Is  Miss  Garden  at 
home,  and  may  I  see  her  for  a  moment?" 

"  She  will  be  delighted  to  see  you.  I  will  call 
her." 

The  general  disappeared,  and  James  Blake  lay 
back  in  his  chair,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  portrait 
of  Jessie  Garden. 

The  slender  figure,  with  the  bunch  of  golden- 
rod  at  the  waist,  the  proud  poise  of  the  little  head, 
the  delicately  chiseled  features — he  gazed  at  the 
artist's  inspired  work  until  a  film  stole  over  his 
eyes. 

He  heard  the  faint  rustle  of  a  garment  and 
turned  to  see  Jessie  Garden  as  she  entered  the 
room.  A  tender  light  glowed  in  her  brown  eyes, 
but  there  was  something  wistful  in  the  smile;  a 
blending  of  happiness,  restraint  and  pity.  The 
eyes  dropped  for  a  moment  as  they  met  his  frank 
gaze,  but  her  voice  was  clear  and  sweet  as  she 
offered  her  hand  and  said : 

43* 


BLAKE'S        SAC  R  I  F  I  C  E 

"You  have  made  this  the  happiest  day  of  our 
lives,  Mr,  Blake.  I—  " 

"  Not  another  word,"  interrupted  James  Blake. 
"You  must  not  thank  me.  Please  don't  Jessie. 
It's  the  only  favor  I  ask." 

"Why  not?" 

The  parted  lips  and  questioning  eyes  were  elo- 
quent with  surprise. 

"Why  not?"  she  repeated. 

"  Because  I  don't  want  you  to,"  he  said,  releas- 
ing the  little  hand. 

His  heart  beat  fast  as  he  gazed  into  her  face, 
but  in  that  moment  he  gained  the  final  victory,  and 
only  the  numbing  pain  of  wounded  passion  re- 
mained. 

Less  than  a  day  had  passed  since  he  had  re- 
solved to  surrender  all  hope  for  the  love  of  Jessie 
Garden.  Why  had  he  done  so?  James  Blake  could 
not  answer  that  question.  He  had  not  calmly 
weighed  his  chances  of  success  against  those  of 
failure. 

Like  a  flash  it  dawned  upon  him  that  he  could 
not — that  he  must  not — be  disloyal  to  John  Burt. 
He  did  not  reason  it  out — it  was  told  to  him  in  that 
voiceless,  wordless  language  which  has  no  name  or 
key. 

A  strange  happiness  stole  over  him  as  he  sat  by 
her  side  and  listened  to  the  music  of  her  voice.  For 
the  first  time  in  his  life  James  Blake  felt  himself 
almost  worthy  of  the  love  of  such  a  woman.  Had 

433 


JOHN  BURT 

fate  traced  their  paths  along  other  lines,  he  believed 
that  she  would  have  listened  to  an  avowal  which  so 
often  had  trembled  on  his  lips. 

James  Blake  did  not  pose  before  the  mirror  of 
his  inner  consciousness  as  a  martyr  or  a  hero. 
Those  who  will  attempt  to  analyze  and  determine 
the  complex  motives  which  impel  them  to  any  im- 
portant action  may  then  pass  judgment  on  James 
Blake.  He  was  as  generous  as  he  was  selfish,  and 
as  forgiving  as  he  was  impulsive.  Like  a  thought- 
less child  he  reached  out  after  forbidden  things. 
He  loved  everything  which  a  healthy  normal  man 
should  love. 

He  had  loved  that  woman,  and  the  kindled  fires 
of  his  passion  dulled  the  flame  of  friendship.  There 
had  been  moments  when  he  was  able  to  forget  John 
Burt — wild,  blissful  moments  when  the  vision  of 
Jessie  Garden  shut  out  all  the  world  and  selfishness 
became  exalted  into  love.  In  the  strong  presence 
of  the  friend  of  his  boyhood  and  the  partner  of  his 
young  manhood,  he  saw  the  fathomless  void  which 
lay  between  his  extended  arms  and  the  woman  he 
loved.  Ardent  fancy  spanned  this  gulf  with  bridges, 
but  they  were  arches  of  cobwebs  when  he  stood  be- 
jfore  John  Burt. 

No  poison  of  envy  or  jealousy  now  turned  his 
friendship  for  John  Burt  into  hatred.  One  man  in 
all  the  world  was  good  enough  for  Jessie  Garden — 
his  friend,  John  Burt.  Loving  her  none  the  less,  he 
respected  John  more.  In  a  few  hours  John  should 

4J4 


BLAKE'S        SACRIFICE 

know  the  truth.     Surely  Blake  could  expect  forgive- 
ness for  falling  in  love  with  Jessie  Garden. 

"You  must  not  imagine,"  he  said,  "that  your 
father  is  under  the  slightest  obligations  to  me.  On 
the  contrary,  our  firm  is  indebted  to  him.  The 
stock  which  he  held  was  the  key  to  the  situation. 
Without  it  we  could  have  done  nothing.  We  have 
simply  been  able  to  verify  the  general's  confidence 
in  its  value,  and  he  is  the  one  to  be  congratulated  on 
the  outcome." 

"I  don't  believe  a  word  you  say,"  replied  Jes- 
sie Garden,  laughing.  "I'm  not  so  stupid  about 
these  Wall  Street  affairs  as  you  imagine.  If  it  had 
not  been  for  you,  Mr.  Morris  would  have  defrauded 
papa  out  of  all  his  property." 

"  Speaking  of  Morris  reminds  me  of  something 
which  has  often  puzzled  me,"  said  Blake,  changing 
the  subject.  "Will  you  excuse  me  for  being  inquisi- 
tive, Miss  Garden?" 

"You  are  assuming  a  woman's  prerogative,  and 
I  warn  you  that  Mr.  Morris  is  not  an  agreeable 
topic." 

"  It's  about  that  portrait,"  said  Blake,  pointing 
to  the  canvas.  "  I'm  in  for  it  now,  but  I  may  as  well 
go  ahead.  The  first  time  I  ever  met  Arthur  Mor- 
ris I  saw  your  portrait  in  his  library  room.  It  has 
always  puzzled  me.  Some  time  I'll  tell  you  why." 

"My  portrait  in  Mr.  Morris's  room!"  ex- 
claimed Jessie,  the  color  mounting  to  her  cheeks. 
"  Surely  you  are  jesting,  Mr.  Blake  I " 

435 


JOHN  BURT 

"It  was  probably  a  copy,  though  he  told  me  it 
was  the  original,"  replied  Blake.  "  He  said  you  had 
it  painted  for  him  in  Berlin,  and  that  you  presented 
it  to  him.  The  first  time  I  came  here  I  saw  this  one 
and  thought  it  a  remarkable  coincidence." 

"There  is  no  mystery  about  it,"  said  Jessie,  her 
eyes  flashing  with  anger.  "  Mr.  Morris  saw  fit  to 
take  advantage  of  papa's  bankruptcy,  which  gave 
him  possession  of  our  Boston  residence.  This  por- 
trait hung  on  its  walls,  and  he  doubtless  had  a  copy 
made  from  it.  This  is  consistent  with  other  acts 
from  which  we  have  suffered  at  his  hands.  I — " 

The  portieres  parted  and  Edith  Hancock  en- 
tered the  room.  Her  eyes  rested  first  on  Blake  and 
then  on  Jessie. 

"  Pardon  this  intrusion,"  she  said.  "  I  am 
looking  for  a  book  and  did  riot  know  that  any  one 
was  here.  You  are  to  be  congratulated,  Mr.  Blake; 
doubly  congratulated." 

There  was  a  tremor  in  the  voice,  but  a  proud 
flash  of  the  lovely  eyes  as  Edith  bowed  slightly, 
and,  brushing  the  portieres  aside,  left  the  room. 

"Don't  go,  Edith!  "  cried  Jessie. 

There  was  no  response,  and  Jessie  was  too 
wise  to  follow  her  fair  cousin.  For  some  moments 
no  words  were  spoken. 

11 1  am  going  to  tell  you  the  story  of  that  por- 
trait," said  Jessie.  The  crimson  touched  her  cheeks 
and  a  light,  such  as  Blake  had  never  seen,  was  in 
her  eyes.  "  Do  you  remember  what  you  said  last 
436 


BLAKE'S        SACRIFICE 

night?  You  said  that  it  seemed  as  if  we  had  been 
friends  for  years,  and  the  same  thought  has  oc- 
curred to  me.  I'm  going  to  presume  on  that 
occult  friendship  and  tell  you  a  secret.  That  por- 
trait belongs  to  John  Burt!  " 

A  few  hours  before  this  arrow  would  have 
buried  its  barbs  in  James  Blake's  heart,  but  now 
it  went  wide  of  its  mark  and  only  the  archer  was 
in  pain. 

Jessie  felt  herself  an  ingrate  as  she  uttered 
these  words.  She  had  wounded  him  while  he  came 
as  a  messenger  bearing  a  princely  gift.  She  had 
innocently  aroused  his  love  only  to  spurn  it  before 
it  had  been  declared.  Her  lips  trembled,  and  for 
one  brief  moment  she  would  that  the  cruel  words 
were  not  spoken.  She  raised  her  eyes  and  looked 
into  James  Blake's  face.  He  played  his  part  with 
the  consummate  art  of  an  actor. 

"  John  Burt?  The  John  Burt  I  knew  as  a  boy  ? 
What  do  you  mean,  Jessie?" 

She  opened  an  album  and  handed  it  to  him.  On 
one  page  was  the  faded  duplicate  of  the  photo- 
graph from  which  had  been  painted  the  portrait 
he  had  seen  so  often  in  John  Burt's  study  room  in 
San  Francisco.  Opposite  it  was  a  photograph  of 
John  Burt.  The  album  opened  naturally  to  these 
pages — sure  proof  that  certain  white  fingers  had 
sought  them  out  many,  many  times. 

"  It  was  only  a  week  before  he  went  away,"  said 
Jessie,  softly,  "  that  these  pictures  were  taken.    It 

437 


JOHN  BURT 

was  a  glorious  day  in  autumn,  and  our  horses  had 
galloped  miles  and  miles.  Near  the  bay  shore  in. 
Hingham  we  saw  a  traveling  photographer,  and  I 
suggested  that  we  have  our  pictures  taken.  We 
each  gave  the  other  one,  and  I  have  mine  yet. 
We-" 

"  And  he  has  his  yet,"  said  Blake,  a  far-off  look 
in  his  eyes. 

"  He  has !  How  do  you  know,  Mr.  Blake  ? 
Have  you — " 

u  Of  course  he  has  it.  I'll  wager  dear  old 
John  has  never  parted  with  that  little  gift.  Wher- 
ever he  may  be  he  wears  that  picture  nearest  his 
heart.  Excuse  my  interruption,  Jessie;  I'm  greatly 
interested." 

"  You  spoke  as  if  you  knew,"  said  Jessie,  her 
heart  beating  wildly.  "  The  last  day  I  saw  him  he 
spoke  of  you.  We  sailed  out  to  Black  Reef  and 
we  talked  of  many  things.  John  said  he  was  going 
to  California,  and  wondered  if  you  were  there  and 
if  he  would  see  you.  That  seems  ages  ago,  but  it's 
only  five  years.  And  then  we  sailed  back  to  the 
grove  and  he  quarreled  with  Arthur  Morris.  You 
have  heard  the  story.  That  night  we  parted,  and 
a  thousand  times  I  have  heard  the  hoofs  of  his  horse 
as  he  galloped  away  in  the  darkness." 

She  paused,  but  Blake,  with  his  eyes  on  the 
portrait,  said  nothing. 

"When  you  told  me  that  you  were  John  Burt's 
friend  I  liked  you,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  which 
438 


BLAKE      S        SACRIFICE 

thrilled  his  very  being.  "  You  have  been  all  that 
he  said  in  your  favor,  and  many  times  more.  I 
have  often  thought  how  strange  it  is  that  the  friend 
of  his  boyhood  should  be  the  one  to  come  to  our 
aid  when  all  seemed  darkest.  I  would  that  it  were 
in  my  power  to  repay  you,  Mr.  Blake.  You  have 
at  your  command  everything  which  money  can 
furnish,  and  I  can  offer  you  only  my  friendship  and 
my  prayer  for  your  happiness." 

He  took  her  hand  and  impulsively  pressed  it 
to  his  lips. 

"  You  have  made  me  very,  very  happy,"  he  said, 
rising  to  his  feet  as  she  tenderly  withdrew  her  hand. 
"  I  should  like  to  tell  you  something  which — which — 
but  I  must  not  tell  it.  Some  day  you  will  know  me 
better.  Will  you  promise  not  to  be  angry  with  me 
then?  Will  you  promise,  Jessie ?" 

"Angry  with  you?  I  am  sure  I  shall  never  be 
angry  with  you." 

"  That  is  your  promise  ?  " 

"That  is  my  promise." 

He  laughed  gaily  as  she  repeated  the  words, 
but  his  lips  quivered  and  his  eyes  glistened  suspi- 
ciously. In  a  moment  he  was  the  careless,  happy 
Blake,  chatting  lightly  on  trivial  subjects. 

"  I  must  keep  an  engagement,"  he  said,  looking 
at  his  watch.  "A  friend  of  mine  is  here  from  Cali- 
fornia, and  I'm  to  take  dinner  with  him.  He's  a 
royal  good  fellow,  rich,  handsome,  cultivated,  and 
^and  everything  which  a  good  fellow  should  be. 

4J9 


JOHN  BURT 

I'd  like  to  introduce  him.     May  I  call  with  him  to- 
morrow evening?" 

"  Any  friend  of  yours  is  welcome,  especially  a 
paragon  with  such  bewildering  attractions,"  laughed 
Jessie.  "Good-bye,  until  to-morrow  evening." 


440 


CHAPTER        THIRTY-NINE 

THROUGH  THE  HEART 

T  lacked  several  minutes  of  the  hour  fixed  for 
dinner  when  Blake  strolled  through  the  hotel 
cafe  and  thence  into  the  lobby.  The  babble  of. 
voices,  the  gesticulations  and  the  nervous  energy 
which  pervaded  the  atmosphere  were  not  in  harmony 
with  Blake's  feelings. 

"Jessie  was  afraid  I  was  going  to  say  some- 
thing to-night,  and  so  she  told  me  that  she  loved 
John,"  he  mused,  throwing  away  a  half-smoked 
cigar.  "  Dear  old  John!  Lucky  old  John !  Jessie 
doesn't  even  know  that  he  is  alive  and  yet  she's 
patiently  waiting  for  him.  I  wonder  how  she  came 
to  fall  in  love  with  John?  He  wouldn't  look  at  a 
woman  in  San  Francisco.  This  is  a  strange  world. 
I  never  noticed  until  to-night  how  remarkably  beau- 
tiful Edith  Hancock  is.  She  thinks  Jessie  and  I  are 
engaged.  That's  what  she  meant  this  evening  when 
she  said  I  was  to  be  doubly  congratulated.  Yes, 
I'm  to  be  congratulated  a  lot!  Hello,  what's  the 
row?  That  sounds  like  Morris!  I  suppose  he's 
drunk.  If  he  had  a  spark  of  decency  he'd  be  with 
his  father.  Here  he  comes ! " 

Morris  pushed  his  way  through  the  crowd  and 
was  followed  by  young  Kingsley.  They  had  been 
engaged  in  a  wordy  dispute  which  promised  to  end 
in  blows  when  outsiders  interfered.  Morris  had 
been  drinking  steadily  for  hours.  And  as  he  drank 
his  form  grew  more  erect,  his  brain  clearer  and  his 

44» 


JOHN  BURT 

hand  more  steady.  There  are  times  when  liquor 
possesses  no  power  of  intoxication.  Against  the 
poison  of  a  rattlesnake  whiskey  is  soothing  as  milk. 
The  venom  of  defeat  raged  in  the  veins  of  Arthur 
Morris,  and  the  fiery  liquor  acted  as  an  antidote. 

Not  until  he  was  within  a  few  feet  of  Blake  did 
he  recognize  his  rival.  Though  anxious  to  avoid 
a  meeting,  Blake  scorned  to  retreat  or  to  turn  his 
back. 

Morris  stopped  squarely  in  front  of  him.  His 
lips  parted  with  a  sneer  and  his  fingers  toyed  with  a 
small  walking  stick.  Blake  leaned  carelessly  against 
a  marble  column,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  man  who  con- 
fronted him.  Had  Blake  been  in  a  Western  mining 
camp  his  fingers  would  have  reached  for  the  feel 
of  a  gun,  but  in  a  metropolitan  hotel  he  had  no 
sense  of  danger.  The  incident  was  trivial,  but  disa- 
greeable. 

"  Lend  me  a  thousand,  Blake,"  demanded 
Morris. 

A  whisper  passed  around  the  room  and  many 
turned  to  watch  these  two  men,  whose  names  had 
filled  the  public  prints  of  the  day. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Blake,  a  strange  smile  light- 
ing up  his  handsome  face.  "  Is  a  thousand  enough, 
Morris?" 

Blake  took  a  wallet  from  his  inner  pocket  and 
handed  Morris  a  bill. 

"  And  a  match,"  ordered  Morris,  advancing  a 
step  nearer. 
44* 


THROUGH     THE     HEART 

"The  hotel  furnishes  matches,"  responded 
Blake,  coolly. 

"  Here's  a  match,"  said  Kingsley. 

"Thanks,  old  chap." 

Morris  calmly  struck  a  light  and  shielded  it 
with  his  hand  against  the  draught  from  an  open 
door. 

Holding  the  bright  new  thousand  dollar  note  a 
few  feet  from  Blake's  head  he  ignited  it.  As  it 
slowly  burned  up  he  turned  it  deftly  until  only  a 
charred  corner  remained  in  his  hand.  No  word  was 
spoken  as  the  blue  and  yellow  flame  died  out.  A 
circle  of  men  had  formed  around  the  two. 

"Very  clever,  Morris,"  said  Blake,  replacing 
his  pocket-book.  "  Must  be  a  new  sensation  to 
burn  my  money?  First  of  it  you  ever  saw,  isn't 
it?  Did  you  burn  your  fingers — again — Morris?" 

"  Come  on,  old  fellow,"  pleaded  Kingsley,  lay- 
ing his  hand  on  Morris's  shoulder.  "Come  on; 
you're  due  at  the  club." 

"  Give  this  mucker  his  thousand,  Kingsley," 
ordered  Morris,  turning  his  back  to  Blake. 

"Sorry,  my  dear  fellow,  but  haven't  it  with  me, 
don't  you  know,"  replied  the  cautious  Kingsley. 

"Don't  bother  about  repaying  it,"  said  Blake. 
"We'll  let  it  go  as  your  commission  for  advising 
me  to  purchase  L.  &  O.  You  were  singularly 
accurate,  Morris,  in  your  estimate  of  its  value." 

"Don't  go  too  far  with  me,  Blake!"  Morris 
exclaimed,  turning  fiercely  on  the  speaker.  "I'll 


JOHN  BURT 

not  stand  for  it,  do  you  hear?  I've  lost,  and  I'm 
still  a  gentleman ;  you've  won,  and  are  yet  a  cad  1 
You've  taken  my  money  and  won  the  woman.  Keep 
away  from  me." 

"I  didn't  seek  this  interview,"  said  Blake,  his 
face  flushed  with  rising  anger,  "but  since  it's  to  be 
our  last  one,  I'm  going  to  tell  you  something.  I've 
not  a  dollar  of  your  money  and  am  not  your  rival 
in  any  respect.  I  didn't  plan  the  deal  which  broke 
you,  and  do  not  share  in  the  profits." 

"  Blake,  you're  a  — ."  Morris  checked  himself 
and  glared  at  the  other  with  an  expression  of 
mingled  hate  and  surprise. 

"  Say  it  if  you  wish,"  responded  Blake.  "  I 
never  strike  drunkards,  and  you  are  safe.  Listen 
to  me,  Morris,  and  I'll  tell  you  something  that  will 
sober  you.  Do  you  remember  John  Burt?  I  guess 
you  do.  He  was  the  country  boy  who  dragged  you 
out  of  a  chair  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck  for  insulting 
a  young  lady  upon  whom  you  had  forced  your  society. 
You  recall  him,  don't  you?" 

"What  of  him?"  demanded  Morris,  sullenly. 
At  the  mention  of  John  Burt's  name  Morris  in- 
stinctively raised  his  hand  to  his  breast.  There  a, 
bullet  had  plowed  its  way  while  he  struggled  in 
close  combat  on  the  sanded  floor  of  the  old  tavern. 
The  scene,  with  all  its  horror,  came  back  to  him. 
The  table,  lined  with  bottles  and  glasses,  the 
drunken  laughter,  the  ribald  talk,  the  insulting 
toast,  and  then — John  Burt. 

444 


THROUGH     THE     HEART 

"JohnBurt — what  of  him?"  repeated  Morris. 
Perhaps  some  vague  suspicion  of  the  truth  came  to 
him  in  that  moment.  "  That  country  lout  can  come 
back,  or  stay  away,  or  go  to  the  devil,  for  all  I 
care." 

"  That  country  lout  has  come  back,"  said  Blake 
deliberately.  "  I  had  the  pleasure  this  afternoon, 
my  dear  Morris,  of  transferring  to  John  Burt  the 
various  stocks  and  bonds  which  you  and  your 
father  tendered  to  James  Blake  &  Company  in  set- 
tlement of  your  liabilities.  Permit  me  to  let  you 
into  a  deep  secret,  my  dear  Morris.  John  Burt  is 
James  Blake  &  Company.  He  is  the  Wizard  of 
Wall  Street.  I  am — nothing.  I  don't  count,  don't 
you  see  ?  In  my  feeble  way  I've  attempted  to  carry 
out  John  Burt's  instructions.  You  seemed  to  stand 
across  his  path  and  he  blotted  you  out.  He  crushed 
you  as  he  would  a  buzzing  fly.  He  forced  you  to 
disgorge  General  Garden's  fortune.  He  will  wed 
the  woman  on  whom  you  have  forced  your  ad- 
dresses. Do  I  make  myself  plain,  Morris?" 

Morris  gazed  at  James  Blake  and  for  a  moment 
seemed  incapable  of  speech.  He  moistened  his 
lips  with  his  tongue  and  fumbled  nervously  at  his 
watch  chain. 

"  I — I— I  think  you  lie,  Blake,"  he  stammered, 
after  a  long  pause.  "  It's  all  a  lie,  don't  you  know, 
Kingsley." 

Blake  raised  his  eyes  and  saw  John  Burt  and 
Mr.  Hawkins  entering  the  room.  Pausing  not  a 

445 


JOHN  BURT 

second    to   weigh    the    consequences,    he    grasped 
Morris  by  the  shoulders  and  whirled  him  around. 

"Hands  off  of  me,"  exclaimed  Morris,  his 
voice  harsh  with  rage  and  his  eyes  red  with  the 
flame  of  anger.  "  Hands  off!  "  he  repeated. 

Morris  threw  one  arm  behind  him,  but  Blake, 
scornful  of  his  opponent,  and  thinking  only  of  the 
dramatic  climax  which  offered  itself,  took  no  warn- 
ing. 

"  Calm  yourself,  Morris,"  he  said  soothingly. 
"Anger  does  not  become  you.  I  want  you  to  look 
your  best,  for  here  comes  our  mutual  friend,  John 
Burt !  It's  so  long  since  you've  seen  each  other 
that  an  introduction  is  in  order.  Hello,  John  !  " 

Blake  released  his  grasp  and  Morris  drew  back 
in  a  defiant  attitude.  With  careless  contempt  Blake 
ignored  Morris,  and  his  eyes  followed  John  Burt 
and  Hawkins  as  they  came  towards  him.  John  was 
listening  to  his  elderly  companion  and  both  were 
circling  the  group  which  surrounded  Blake  and 
Morris. 

The  contrast  between  Burt  and  Hawkins  was 
sharp  but  pleasing.  John  Hawkins — his  dark  eyes 
masked  by  bushy  lashes,  his  tawny  beard  half  cov- 
ering his  massive  chest,  the  locks  of  his  iron  gray 
hair  showing  beneath  his  broad  brimmed  hat,  his 
firm  tread,  the  deep  mellow  bass  of  his  voice — he 
was  the  perfect  type  of  that  sturdy  American  man- 
hood transplanted  from  New  England  to  California 
and  crowned  with  the  glorious  fruitage  of  years. 
44.6 


THROUGH     THE     HEART 

The  man  who  walked  beside  John  Hawkins  had 
been  gifted  by  nature  with  lines  of  figure  which 
instantly  commanded  admiration.  John  Burt  at 
twenty-eight  had  the  grace  of  youth  and  the  sym- 
metry of  manhood.  There  is  in  physical  beauty,  be 
it  masculine  or  feminine,  something  so  elusive  that 
it  scorns  description  by  comparison.  John  Burt 
looked  health,  strength,  vigor,  intelligence,  good 
fellowship.  The  texture  of  his  skin,  the  light  of 
his  eyes,  the  pose  of  his  head — all  proclaimed  the 
virility  of  perfect  manhood. 

At  the  call  of  his  name  John  turned  and  saw 
Blake.  His  face  lighted  with  a  smile  as  he  stopped 
and  then  walked  towards  the  group. 

The  three  men  were  almost  in  a  line,  with  Blake 
in  the  center.  Morris  fixed  his  gaze  on  the  new- 
comer, but  John  did  not  look  in  his  direction. 

The  muscles  of  Morris's  face  twitched,  and  a 
desperate  look  came  to  his  eyes.  With  a  quick 
motion  his  arm  came  from  behind  his  back  and 
something  glittered  in  his  hand.  In  the  adjoining 
cafe  an  orchestra  sounded  the  notes  of  a  march. 

"  Hello,  Jim,"  said  John.    "  Are  we  on  time  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Burt,"  said  Blake,  his  dark  eyes  twinkling 
with  deviltry,  and  his  .voice  clear  as  a  bell,  "permit 
me  to  introduce — " 

He  turned  to  Morris  with  a  mocking  smile  on 
his  lips.  He  heard  the  click  of  metal  and  saw  the 
flash  of  polished  steel  as  Morris  raised  his  arm  and 
leveled  a  revolver  at  John  Burt. 

447 


JOHN  BURT 

"I  bought  this  for  myself!  Take  it,  John 
Burt,"  he  cried. 

He  fired  before  the  words  were  out  of  his 
mouth.  The  spectators  who  stood  their  ground 
saw  James  Blake  throw  himself  forward  the  moment 
before  a  spit  of  fire  came  from  the  muzzle  of  the 
weapon.  They  saw  his  figure  reel  through  the 
smoke,  and  they  saw  Morris  fire  again. 

Like  a  sharp  echo  came  an  answering  shot 
from  Blake.  He  had  half  fallen,  with  his  right 
knee  and  left  hand  on  the  marble  floor.  Morris's 
second  shot  was  aimed  over  his  head  at  John  Burt, 
who  had  dashed  at  Morris  and  was  almost  over  the 
wavering  figure  of  his  friend. 

When  Blake  fired,  Morris  arms  went  up  with  a 
jerk.  His  revolver  fell  with  a  crash  on  the  floor. 
One  of  the  cartridges  exploded  and  the  bullet 
buried  itself  in  a  heavy  oaken  chair. 

"  God  !  "  Morris  cried. 

Like  a  column  pushed  from  its  base  he  fell. 
He  turned  half  over  and  lay  motionless.  A  num- 
ber of  letters  were  shaken  out  of  his  inner  coat 
pocket  and  scattered  on  the  floor.  A  pair  of  broken 
eye-glasses  were  near  his  head.  His  watch  dropped 
from  his  waistcoat,  and,  by  some  chance,  the  case 
was  opened.  The  hands  marked  the  hour  of  nine. 

"I've  got  him,  John,"  gasped  Blake,  "and  I 
guess  he's  got  me!  Are  you  hurt,  John?  " 

He  again  raised  his  weapon  unsteadily,  and 
pitched  forward  into  John  Burt's  arms. 

44* 


Like  a  column  pushed  from  a  base  he  fell. 


CHAPTER  FORTY 

SHADOW  OF  DEATH 

TAND  back  and  give  the  man  air!"  roared 
John  Hawkins,  pushing  aside  the  morbid 
crowd  which  surged  around  the  motionless 
bodies.  "  Bear  a  hand,  John,  we'll  take  Jim  to  my 
room." 

Sam  Rounds  touched  John  on  the  arm. 

"Can  I  dew  anything,  John?"  he  asked,  his 
homely  face  pathetic  in  its  sorrow. 

u  Call  the  best  surgeons,"  ordered  John  Burt, 
in  a  low  tone.  "We  shall  be  in  Mr.  Hawkins's 
room,  on  the  second  floor." 

Officers  waved  back  the  spectators,  and,  ten- 
derly raising  the  inert  figure,  Burt  and  Hawkins 
carried  it  up  the  marble  stairs.  A  moment  later 
the  house  surgeon,  and  a  physician  who  had  volun- 
teered his  services,  entered  the  room. 

With  bated  breath  John  watched  the  surgeon 
as  he  opened  the  waistcoat  and  cut  away  the  blood- 
soaked  shirt.  For  a  moment  he  laid  his  head 
against  Blake's  breast.  It  seemed  an  age  before 
the  answer  came. 

"  He  lives,"  said  the  surgeon,  reaching  for  an 
emergency  case. 

"Has  he  a  chance?"  demanded  Hawkins,  in  a 
hoarse  whisper. 

An  almost  imperceptible  shrug  of  the  shoul- 
ders was  the  ominous  answer.  He  held  a  vial  to 
Blake's  nostrils,  and  the  watchers  saw  the  faint 

449 


JOHN  BURT 

shudder  which  told  of  a  halt  in  the  march  of  death. 
Then  the  breast  heaved  convulsively,  and  James 
Blake  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  squarely  into 
John  Burt's  face. 

"Hello,  John!"  he  said, '  faintly.  "What's 
the  matter?  What's  happened,  old  man?" 

Before  the  surgeon  could  interfere,  Blake 
pressed  his  hand  over  his  heart,  raised  it  and  looked 
at  the  red  stained  fingers.  Wearily  he  closed  his 
eyes,  as  in  deep  thought. 

"  I  remember  now,"  he  said,  softly.  "  It  was 
Morris.  I  got  him,  John,  didn't  I  ?  But  I  guess 
he's  got  me." 

u  You  must  keep  quiet,  Jim,"  said  John  Burt, 
tenderly  clasping  Blake's  hand  and  pushing  back 
the  damp  locks  from  his  forehead.  "  You  are  a 
long  way  from  being  dead,  old  man,  but  you  must 
reserve  your  strength  and  obey  the  surgeons." 

"  I  don't  want  a  surgeon — not  now,"  declared 
Blake,  in  a  stronger  voice  and  a  quickening  intelli- 
gence in  his  dark  eyes.  "  Hello,  Hawkins !  You 
won't  be  offended,  will  you,  Hawkins,  if  I  ask  you 
and  the  doctors  to  leave  me  alone  with  John  for  a 
minute  or  two?" 

"Certainly  not,  my  boy,  if  the  doctors  say  so." 

The  surgeon  turned  to  John  and  whispered  a 
few  words,  which  did  not  escape  Blake's  strangely 
revived  senses. 

"You'll  probe  for  nothing  until  I  talk  to  John!" 
he  asserted.  "I'm  going  to  live  long  enough  to 
450 


SHADOW      OF      DEATH 

tell  John  something  that  no  one  else  shall  hear,  and 
then  I  don't  care  how  much  you  carve  me,  or  if  I 
live  or  die.  Send  them  out  of  here,  John,  or  I'll  get 
up  and  chase  them  out." 

John  called  the  two  medical  men  to  one  side. 

"  I  have  sent  for  other  surgeons,  and  they  will  be 
here  soon,"  he  said.  "  Unless  an  immediate  opera- 
tion is  necessary,  we  shall  lose  more  by  refusing  his 
request  than  by  granting  it.  I  cannot  explain  why." 

"It  is  a  dangerous  operation,  and  I  consent  to 
delay  it  until  others  arrive,"  said  the  surgeon.  "I 
have  sent  for  Dr.  Harkness." 

He  held  his  hand  for  a  moment  on  Blake's 
pulse,  administered  a  few  drops  of  stimulant,  and 
motioning  to  Hawkins  and  the  physician,  the  three 
silently  left  the  room. 

"  Sit  close  by  me,  John,  and  let  me  hold  your 
hand,"  said  Blake.  "  Dear  old  John ! " 

Tears  glistened  in  his  eyes  as  he  clasped  the 
other's  hand. 

"  I  don't  wish  you  to  tell  me  anything,  Jim," 
said  John,  soothingly,  as  he  gently  returned  the 
clasp.  "  Just  keep  quiet,  Jim,  and  make  up  your 
mind  that  you  are  going  to  get  well  and  be  the 
same  generous  old  Jim  Blake  that  I  have  known  all 
these  years." 

"  You  know  what  I've  done !  "  exclaimed  Blake, 
his  eyes  glistening  with  excitement.  "  You  know  all, 
and  yet  forgive  me  I  Do  you,  John  ?  Tell  me,  old 
man;  it  means  more  for  me  than  drugs  or  probes." 

45' 


JOHN  BURT 

"I  do,  Jim.  Say  no  more  about  it,  old  partner, 
but  lay  quiet  and  keep  all  your  strength  for  the 
crisis  which  is  coming." 

"I  don't  care  what's  coming.  This  is  my  pun- 
ishment, John,  but  your  words  take  all  the  sting  out 
of  it.  I  met  Jessie,  John,  and  fell  in  love  with  her! 
I  tried  to  stop  myself,  but  it  was  no  use.  I  met  her 
the  first  night  I  went  to  General  Garden's,  and  since 
then  I  have  been  tossed  back  and  forth  between 
heaven  and  hell.  I  lied  to  you,  John ;  lied  with  my 
lips  and  in  my  heart." 

"Say  no  more  about  it,  Jim,"  John  almost 
commanded.  "  You  made  a  false  step,  but  you  re- 
gretted it,  and  have  done  all  you  could  to  prove  it." 

A  proud,  happy  smile  lighted  up  Blake's  face 
and  was  reflected  in  his  eyes. 

"You  have  seen  Jessie  and  she  has  told  you 
all?" 

John  shook  his  head. 

"  And  yet  you  know  the  truth.  I  loved  her  madly, 
John,  but  a  few  words  from  you,  John,  after  you 
learned  the  truth,  brought  me  back  to  earth.  Then  I 
knew  to  what  a  depth  I  had  fallen.  I  said  nothing  to 
Jessie,  John.  No  word  of  love  ever  passed  my  lips.  I 
did  not  know  what  I  was  trying  to  do  until  you  silently 
spoke  to  me.  I  was  going  to  tell  you  all  about  it 
to-night,  John.  I  saw  Jessie  this  evening,  and  told 
her  that  I  was  to  dine  with  a  friend  of  mine  from 
California — you,  John,  you !  And  to-morrow  even- 
ing I  promised  her  that  I  would  bring  that  unnamed 

452 


THE     SHADOW     OF     DEATH 

friend  to  her  house.  That  was  my  little  surprise, 
John,  but  it  was  not  to  be." 

"  I  shall  call  the  surgeons  if  you  say  another 
word,"  declared  John,  who  feared  a  change  for  the 
worse. 

James  Blake  sank  back  on  the  pillows,  a  rapt 
look  on  his  pale  face,  though  excruciating  pain  was 
gnawing  at  his  breast.  After  an  interval  of  silence 
he  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  appealingly  at  John 
Burt. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  Jessie.  Will  you  send  for 
her,  John?" 

"  At  once,"  was  the  answer. 

The  door  opened  softly  and  Dr.  Harkness  and 
other  surgeons  entered  the  room. 


45} 


CHAPTER        FORTY-ONE 

A  MENDACIOUS  GOD 

'  TTERE'S  a  message  for  you,  Jessie!    The  man 
J_  J.     says  he  will  wait  for  an  answer.     I'm  just 

dying  from  curiosity." 

Jessie  Garden  was  reading  when  Edith  Hancock 
rushed  into  her  room. 

"A  message  for  me?"  Her  hand  trembled  as 
she  broke  the  seal.  "  I  hope  nothing  has  happened 
to  papa." 

"  The  general  came  in  a  few  minutes  ago  and  is 
in  the  library,"  said  Edith.  "  Read  it,  Jessie." 

Too  impatient  to. wait,  she  leaned  over  Jessie's 
shoulder.  The  note  bore  the  letterhead  of  a  hotel 
and  was  written  in  a  firm  but  scrawling  hand.  It 
read: 

Miss  Jessie  Garden, 

Madison  Avenue. 

Mr.  James  Blake  has  been  seriously  wounded  by  a  pis- 
tol shot  and  may  not  recover.     He  wishes  to  see  you.     If 

possible,  come  at  once. 

SAMUEL  L.  ROUNDS. 

When  the  purport  of  the  message  dawned  upon 
her,  Edith  snatched  the  paper  from  Jessie's  hand 
and  devoured  it  with  straining  eyes. 

"He  may  not  recover!"  she  moaned.  "He 
may  not  recover !  Oh,  what  has  happened  ?  What 
has  happened  to  him  ?  I  am  going  to  him !  He 
shall  not  die  1  Hurry,  Jessie,  hurry !  We  may  be 
too  late  I " 

Two  white-faced  girls  rushed  in  upon  General 

454 


A      MENDACIOUS      GOD 

Garden.     His  lips  compressed  as  he  read  the  mes- 
sage. 

"This  is  Morris's  work,"  he  said.  "Tell  the 
messenger  we  will  come  at  once.  This  is  sad  news; 
sad,  sad  news." 

The  hotel  entrance  was  blocked  by  a  mob  when 
the  Bishop  carriage  drew  up.  The  blue  helmets  of 
police  officers  formed  a  line  which  marked  the  edge 
of  a  struggling  crowd. 

"  One  moment,  sir!  "  ordered  an  officer  holding 
his  baton  in  front  of  General  Garden.  "  Make  way 
for  the  ambulance  corps!" 

The  folding  doors  of  the  side  entrance  opened 
and  four  men  slowly  advanced  bearing  a  stretcher. 
It  contained  a  motionless  mass  covered  with  a  white 
cloth.  Jessie  clung  to  her  father's  arm. 

With  a  low  cry  Edith  Hancock  sprang  forward 
and  raised  the  cloth.  She  looked  into  the  dead, 
staring  eyes  of  Arthur  Morris.  The  bearers  paused 
while  she  gazed  intently  at  the  face,  set  by  death  in 
its  last  expression  of  rage.  She  nervously  replaced 
the  covering  and  turned  to  Jessie  and  her  father. 

"  It's  Arthur  Morris !  He's  dead.  Perhaps  it's 
all  a  mistake  about  Mr.  Blake.  Find  out,  general; 
find  out  at  once !  We'll  wait  for  you  here." 

General  Garden  returned  and  silently  conducted 
Jessie  and  Edith  to  a  room  on  the  second  floor. 
An  attendant  stood  guard,  but  admitted  them  when 
General  Garden  whispered  the  names.  It  was  a 
large  apartment,  furnished  as  a  drawing-room. 


JOHN  BURT 

A  case  of  surgical  instruments  lay  on  the  center 
table,  but  the  room  had  no  occupant.  As  they  stood 
hesitatingly  by  the  entrance,  the  door  connecting  an 
adjoining  room  opened  and  a  tall  man  with  red  hair, 
sharp  blue  eyes  and  enormous  hands  entered.  Jes- 
sie recognized  Sam  Rounds. 

u  Heou  dew  ye  do!  "  he  said  softly,  advancing 
with  an  awkward  bow.  "Sorry  tew  meet  you  in 
such  a  place,  but  the  bitter  goes  with  the  sweet. 
Take  a  chair,  General  Garden.  Jim's  badly  hurt, 
but  he  has  a  chance — so  the  doctors  say.  They're 
probing  for  the  bullet  now." 

"Is  there  anything  we  can  do?"  asked  Edith, 
her  eyes  clouded  with  agony  and  fear. 

"No  one  but  the  doctors  an' — an'  God  can  pull 
him  through,"  answered  Sam.  He  looked  at  Edith 
with  a  puzzled  expression  on  his  homely  face.  "  I 
don't  rightly  remember  you,  Miss,  an'  I  don't  ordi- 
narily forget  a  face.  The  general  I've  seen,  but  of 
course  he  don't  know  me.  My  name's  Rounds — 
Sam  Rounds — once  of  Rocky  Woods." 

"This  is  my  cousin,  Edith  Hancock,"  said  Jes- 
sie, softly.  "You  have  often  heard  of  Alderman 
Rounds,  papa." 

In  whispers  the  four  talked  of  the  tragedy. 
Sam  had  entered  the  hotel  office  just  before  the  first 
shot  was  fired. 

"It  all  happened  so  quick  I  couldn't  do  a 
thing,"  Sam  explained.  "The  second  shot  fired  by 
Morris  just  missed — some  one  else — some  one  Jim 
456 


A       MENDACIOUS       GOD 

was  tryin'  tew  save — an'  went  through  the  top  of 
Mr.  Hawkins's  hat.  Morris  was  dead  before  he 
struck  the  floor.  Jim  is  shot  in  almost  the  same 
place  that  Morris  was  five  years  ago  or  more.  Mor- 
ris lived  then,  an'  so  Jim  has  a  chance  now." 

Jessie  gently  clasped  Edith's  hands  and  they 
looked  into  each  other's  eyes. 

"He  shall  live  for  your  sake,  Edith  dear,"  she 
whispered. 

The  door  opened  and  a  grave-faced  surgeon 
entered  the  room. 

"  Miss  Garden  may  see  Mr.  Blake  for  a  few 
minutes,"  he  said. 

"  May  I  see  him  then?"  exclaimed  Edith,  laying 
her  hand  on  the  doctor's  arm.  "  Please  let  me  see 
him,  doctor !  I  will  be  very  quiet.  Ask  him,  Jes- 
sie; ask  Mr.  Blake  if  I  can  see  him  if  only  for  a 
minute." 

"We  shall  see,"  said  Dr.  Harkness,  quietly. 
"If  you  wish  him  to  live,  follow  my  orders  with- 
out question.  You  may  go  in  now,  Miss  Garden." 

Sam  Rounds  opened  the  door  and  Jessie  en- 
tered. Without  once  looking  inside,  Sam  took  a 
seat  near  General  Garden. 

In  the  dimly  lighted  room  Jessie  Garden  saw 
two  figures — one  [propped  up  with  pillows  so  that 
only  the  head  and  arms  showed  against  the  white  of 
linen.  The  curling,  black  locks  fell  back  from  the 
pale  brow,  and  the  handsome  face  seemed  chiseled 
in  purest  marble. 

457 


JOHN  BURT 

As  Jessie  hesitated,  awed  by  her  surroundings, 
Blake's  dark  eyes  sparkled  with  an  anticipation  be- 
yond words  to  express,  and  his  lips  parted  with  a 
smile  of  ineffable  joy. 

Seated  by  him  was  a  man,  half  shrouded  in 
shadow.  Before  John  Burt  could  restrain  him 
Blake  struggled  to  a  sitting  position. 

"  You  are  very  good  to  come  at  this  hour," 
the  sufferer  said.  His  voice,  though  faint,  was 
clear,  and  had  a  thrill  which  went  to  the  hearts  of 
his  listeners.  "  I  spoke  to  you  this  evening  of  my 
dear  friend  from  California.  Miss  Garden,  allow 
me  to  present  him.  God  bless  you  both!" 

And  thus  they  met,  after  the  weary  flight  of 
years.  Tenderly  laying  Blake  back  on  the  pillows, 
John  clasped  Jessie's  hands  and  looked  in  her  face. 

"John!" 

"Jessie!" 

"  Take  her  in  your  arms,  John !  Don't  mind 
me.  She  loves — " 

His  voice  died  with  a  whisper,  and,  with  a 
long-drawn  sigh,  he  closed  his  eyes. 

"He's  dying!  Call  the  doctor!"  exclaimed 
Jessie,  fear  and  pity  chasing  the  love  light  from 
her  eyes. 

"  Don't  send  for  him,  I'm  all  right  now," 
pleaded  Blake,  opening  his  eyes.  "  Let  me  lie  here 
and  talk  to  you.  The  sight  of  you  two  is  better 
than  all  the  drugs  or  instruments.  I  have  some- 
thing to  tell  you — Miss  Garden.  I — " 

45* 


A       MENDACIOUS       GOD 

"You  promised  not  to  talk,"  interrupted  John 
Burt,  with  a  look  at  Blake  which  had  all  the  effect 
of  a  command.  "  I  will  tell  Jessie  about  your  little 
plot  in  which  you  thought  to  surprise  me,  but 
which  has  ended  so  unhappily  for  you.  When  Jim 
is  strong  and  well,  Jessie,  we  will  let  him  make  all 
the  explanations  he  cares  to,  and  perhaps  we  may 
forgive  him  for  keeping  us  apart  a  whole  week." 

An  expression  of  blank  surprise,  lightened 
with  pleasure,  came  to  Blake's  face,  and  again  he 
attempted  to  speak,  but  John  checked  him. 

"  As  you  may  know,  Jessie,"  John  said,  "  Mr. 
Blake  is  the  head  of  a  firm  which  has  been  co- 
operating with  your  father  in  an  important  cam- 
paign. When  you  become  better  acquainted  with 
Jim  you  will  know  that  he  is  not  only  sentimen- 
tal, but  also  fond  of  the  dramatic.  He  knows  a 
little  of  some  of  my  secrets,  and,  when  he  found 
that  you  had  returned  from  abroad,  he  conceived 
the  idea  that  it  would  be  a  brilliant  scheme  to 
say  nothing  to  me  until  the  Morris  conspiracy 
had  been  overthrown,  and  General  Garden  again 
came  into  possession  of  his  own.  The  market 
climax  came  to-day,  and,  having  paid  to  the  gen- 
eral his  share  of  the  profits,  Jim  was  ready  for 
the  finale.  He  intended  to  make  a  full  confes- 
sion to  me  this  evening,  and  later  hoped  to  make 
amends  with  you.  Jim  was  waiting  for  me  in  the 
hotel  lobby  when  Morris  approached.  Crazed 
with  liquor,  and  enraged  with  the  thought  of  his 

459 


JOHN  BURT 

losses,  Morris  fired  a  pistol  shot  which  wounded 
Jim.  But  we're  going  to  pull  him  through  all 
right.  He  insists  that  we  must  forgive  him,  and 
we  do,  don't  we,  Jessie?" 

"  Of  course  we  do,"  declared  Jessie,  with  a 
puzzled  glance  into  John  Burt's  eyes,  and  a  smile 
at  Blake.  "  But  I'm  afraid  Mr.  Blake  is  teasing 
us,  John.  Early  this  evening  he  hinted  that  he  had 
been  guilty  of  some  great  transgression,  and  I  for- 
gave him  in  advance,  but  I  don't  believe  he's  a  bit 
sorry.  I  warn  you,  Mr.  Blake,  that  I  shall  get  even 
with  you  when  you  are  better." 

Blake  looktd  from  one  to  the  other.  As  he  real- 
ized the  purport  of  John's  truthful  but  evasive  ex- 
planation, his  eyes  danced  with  joy.  He  clasped 
each  of  them  by  the  hand. 

"  Let  me  say  just  a  word ! "  he  exclaimed, 
with  a  meaning  glance  at  John.  "To  see  you  two 
together,  and  to  hold  your  hands  in  mine  after 
all  that  has  happened,  gives  me  new  courage 
and  renewed  ambition.  I  want  to  live;  I  know 
I  shall  live.  I  ask  your  prayers,  Miss  Garden. 
If  the  prayers  of  a  sinner  are  of  any  use,  you 
and  John  shall  be  the  happiest  mortals  on  this 
earth." 

The  subdued  sound  of  conversation  came  from 
the  adjoining  room.  All  of  Blake's  faculties  seemed 
abnormally  acute. 

"Is  not  that  Edith's  voice?"  he  asked. 

"  She  is  in  the  other  room,"  said  Jessie. 
460 


A       MENDACIOUS       GOD 

"  Let  her  come  in,"  pleaded  Blake.  John  made 
a  gesture  of  disapproval. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  her,  but  you  know  best,  I 
suppose,  John,"  he  said.  "I  feel  so  much  stronger 
than  before  you  came,  Miss  Garden.  You  may  tell 
the  surgeons,  John,  that  they  can  try  it  again  any 
time  they  are  ready.  There's  a  piece  of  lead  some- 
where in  here,"  said  Blake  to  Jessie,  with  his  old 
careless  smile,  as  he  laid  his  hand  on  his  breast, 
"  but  we're  going  to  have  it  out,  and  keep  it  for  a 
relic,  eh,  John?" 

Dr.  Harkness  entered  the  room  and  signaled 
to  John  that  the  interview  must  end.  Blake  gal- 
lantly raised  Jessie's  hand  to  his  lips. 

"Good-bye,  until  I'm  better,"  he  said,  almost 
gaily.  "You  and  John  have  saved  my  life.  Tell 
Edith  that  my  jailors  would  not  let  her  in  now ;  but 
that  she  must  call  when  I'm  free  from  them." 

John  escorted  Jessie  to  the  door,  whispered  a 
few  words  and  returned  to  Blake's  side. 

"You're  a  god,  John;  a  splendid,  mendacious 
god!"  said  Blake,  in  a  low  tone.  "You  are  the 
only  man  in  the  world  worthy  the  love  of  such  a 


woman." 


Dr.  Harkness  approached  and  gave  a  satisfied 
glance  at  the  wounded  man. 

"  Go  ahead,  doctor,  and  do  your  worst,"  was  the 
firm  invitation.  "  Don't  be  afraid  of  hurting  me.  I 
survived  a  broken  neck  in  California,  and  am  not 
afraid  of  a  lead  pill  in  New  York." 

46i 


JOHN  BURT 

It  is  merciful  to  draw  the  curtain  over  the  two 
hours  which  followed.  At  last  a  moment  came  when 
the  grave  face  of  Dr.  Harkness  was  touched  with  a 
smile  of  professional  pride,  as  he  drew  from  an  inci- 
sion a  flattened,  jagged  piece  of  lead.  The  patient 
glanced  at  it  with  pain-distorted  eyes,  and  then  sank 
into  a  sleep,  the  awakening  from  which  meant  so 
much  in  deciding  for  life  or  death. 


CHAPTER        FORTY-TWO 

THE  END 

PETER  BURT  stood  by  the  gateway  and  shaded 
his  eyes  with  his  hand  as  he  gazed  down  the 
road.  A  cool  breeze  from  the  ocean  tem- 
pered the  heat  of  a  July  afternoon.  A  few  fleecy 
clouds  floated  lazily  in  the  summer  sky. 

Two  weeks  before  that  day  Peter  Burt  had  re- 
ceived his  first  letter  from  John.  It  briefly  and 
modestly  recited  the  story  of  his  struggles  and  of 
his  success,  and  ended  with  an  account  of  the  tragedy 
which  resulted  in  the  death  of  Arthur  Morris  and 
the  wounding  of  Blake.  He  informed  his  grand- 
father that  Jim  had  a  chance  for  life,  and  said  that 
he  should  remain  near  him  until  the  crisis  decided 
his  fate.  Each  following  day  a  letter  from  John 
came  to  the  old  man,  and  on  one  occasion  his  heart 
was  made  glad  by  a  loving  note  from  Jessie  Garden. 

A  mounted  messenger  from  Hingham  rested 
his  horse  by  Peter  Burt's  gate  and  delivered  a  tele- 
gram which  read : 

"Blake  is  declared  out  of    immediate    danger.     You 
may  expect  four  of  us  about  noon  on  Wednesday." 

JOHN  BURT. 

The  old-fashioned  clock  had  sounded  the  mid- 
day hour,  and  Peter  Burt  looked  beyond  the  turn  of 
the  road,  where  the  yellow-brown  of  dust  had  dulled 
the  green  of  foliage.  Responding  to  the  touch  of  a 
whip  a  spirited  team  of  horses  dashed  ahead  as  they 
reached  the  summit  of  the  hill. 


JOHN  BURT 

Sam  Rounds  was  driving,  and  a  stranger  to 
Peter  Burt  was  beside  him.  John  Burt  and  Jessie 
were  in  the  rear  seat. 

"  God  is  very  good  to  us,  John,"  said  Peter 
Burt,  as  he  took  his  grandson's  hand  and  looked, 
through  glad  tears,  into  his  face.  He  gave  no  look 
or  word  to  the  others,  but  fell  on  his  knees  in  the 
dust  of  the  road  and  offered  a  short  and  fervent 
prayer. 

His  stern  old  face  grew  tender  as  he  arose  and 
turned  to  Jessie  Garden. 

"  An  old  man's  blessing  on  your  pretty  head," 
he  said,  gently  touching  the  folds  of  her  hair  with 
his  huge  palm.  "You  are  very  beautiful,  my  daugh- 
ter, and  it  is  God's  will  that  you  shall  be  happy.  I 
am  glad  to  see  you  again,  Samuel." 

He  looked  searchingly  at  the  silent  man  in  the 
front  seat. 

"  I  do  not  know  you,  sir,"  he  said,  extending 
his  hand,  "  but  any  friend  of  my  grandson's  is  wel- 
come to  such  hospitality  as  a  Burt  can  offer." 

"  Aye,  aye,  sir ;  Captain  Burt  I  My  name's 
Hawkins — John  Hawkins,  and  I'm  coming  ashore," 
said  that  gentleman,  stepping  from  the  carriage. 

Peter  Burt  grasped  him  by  the  shoulders  and 
stared  into  his  face. 

44  Jack  Hawkins!     Jack  Hawkins,  of  the  Segre- 
gansett!     The  dead  has  come  to  life,  and  God  is 
good  to  his  servant !     Forgive  me,  Hawkins,  as  He 
has  forgiven  me !  " 
464 


THE  END 

"Nothing  to  forgive,  Captain  Burt!"  ex- 
claimed John  Hawkins,  heartily,  as  he  grasped  the 
patriarch's  hand.  "  You  dropped  me  off  the  Segre- 
gansett  in  the  right  place  and  at  the  right  time. 
Destiny  orders  all  these  things,  and  old  destiny  and 
I  are  chums.  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it,  Captain  Burt, 
when  we  have  lots  of  time.  I  smell  something 
cooking,  and  I'm  as  hungry  as  I  was  that  time  when 
the  old  whaler  ran  out  of  grub  off  the  Juan  Fernan- 
dez. I'm  going  into  your  cabin  and  prove  that  my 
appetite  is  as  good  as  in  the  days  when  we  tossed 
the  seas  around  the  world  together.  This  is  a  fine 
cove  for  an  old  salt." 

Linked  arm  in  arm  the  old  captain  and  his 
first  mate  entered  the  wide  door  of  the  Burt 
farmhouse. 

Never  had  the  great  oaken  table  upheld  such  a 
dinner.  Mrs.  Jasper  was  temporarily  supplanted 
by  a  chef  from  Boston.  Rare  old  plate  came,  for 
the  first  time  in  John's  recollection,  from  mysterious 
chests  stored  away  in  the  attic.  Those  who  sur- 
rounded the  board  never  will  forget  the  invoca- 
tion offered  by  Peter  Burt  when  he  blessed  the  food. 
The  shadows  which  darkened  his  life  had  all  been 
lifted,  and  the  austere  cloud  passed  from  his  fea- 
tures as  fog  before  a  quickening  gale. 

There  were  so  many  things  to  tell  that  polite 
rules  were  ignored  and  all  talked  at  once.  The 
deep  rumble  of  Hawkins's  bass,  the  nasal  twang  of 
Sam  Rounds's  jokes,  the  music  of  Jessie  Garden's 


JOHN  BURT 

laughter,  blended  with  the  soothing  clatter  of  dishes 
as  deft  waiters  served  the  courses. 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  that  Blake  is  better,"  said 
Peter  Burt,  in  a  lull  of  the  conversation.  "  He  is 
impulsive,  but  has  a  kind,  generous  heart.  I  pre- 
sume he  has  the  best  of  care." 

"  I  should  say  he  had,"  declared  Hawkins,  with 
a  wink  at  Jessie  Garden.  u  He  has  doctors  who 
charge  him  a  dollar  for  every  beat  of  his  pulse,  and 
we  have  all  helped  take  care  of  him.  We  were  so 
persistent  in  our  attentions  that  Dr.  Harkness  said 
he  would  be  glad  when  we  were  out  of  the  city. 
But  there  was  one  he  couldn't  drive  away;  eh,  Miss 
Garden?  Your  charming  cousin,  Miss  Hancock, 
sticks  closer  to  Jim  than  a  sick  kitten  to  a  pan  oi 
warm  milk." 

Hawkins  poked  Sam  Rounds  in  the  ribs  and 
roared  with  a  peal  of  laughter  which  amazed  the 
sedate  Mrs.  Jasper. 

41  Edith   is  very  considerate  to   remain  in  the 

city  during  this  hot  weather,  and  you  are  cruel,  Mr. 

Hawkins,  to    make    fun  of  her,"  protested  Jessie, 

her  face  crimsoned  with  blushes.     "  Come  to  Edith's 

jdefense,  John." 

'  "  She  needs  no  defense,"  insisted  Hawkins, 
tossing  back  his  tawny  locks,  delighted  with  the 
chance  to  tease  Edith's  fair  champion.  "  Jim  is  the 
one  who  needs  defense.  There  he  is,  flat  on  his 
back,  and  Edith  will  capture  him  sure.  He  hasn't 
a  chance  in  the  world.  I'll  leave  it  to  John,  or  bet- 
466 


THE E          N          D 

ter  yet  .to  Sam,  who  is  an  expert  in  affairs  of  the 
heart." 

"I  reckon  Jim  ain't  aimin'  much,  to  escape," 
grinned  Sam.  "  I'd  be  shot  up  a  whole  lot  if  I  thought 
such  a  pretty  girl  as  Miss  Edith  would  bring  me 
flowers,  an'  jam,  an'  twenty-five  cent  see-gars,  an'  set 
and  read  me  poetry  outer  books  an'  magazines.  I 
never  did  have  no  kinder  luck  that  there  way,  but 
I'm  a  young  man  yet,  an'  Ma  Rounds  hasn't  give  up 
hope  that  some  day  there'll  be  a  Mrs.  Samuel 
Lemuel  Rounds.  Tew  my  way  of  thinkin'  Jim's 
erbout  the  luckiest  chap  that  ever  came  outer  Rocky 
Woods — exceptin',  of  course,  John  here;  an'  there's 
nothin'  tew  good  fer  John." 
********** 

Glistening  in  a  new  coat  of  paint  the  Standish 
bobbed  at  the  landing  when  John  helped  Jessie  on 
board.  It  was  on  such  a  day  years  before  that  they 
sailed  out  past  the  bow  of  the  haughty  Voltaire. 
They  had  accepted  Sam  Rounds's  invitation  to  a 
clambake  at  Churchill's  Grove,  and  Sam  asked  all 
his  old  friends  and  neighbors.  For  the  first  time  in 
the  memory  of  the  living  generation  Peter  Burt 
attended  an  outing.  Under  the  giant  pines  he  sat 
with  John  Hawkins  and  told  and  listened  to  tales  of 
the  sea. 

Mrs.  Rounds  was  in  her  element.  The  oppor- 
tunity of  hard  work  was  again  before  her,  and  Sam 
could  not  restrain  the  good  woman.  Enforced  ease 
had  rounded  her  face  and  figure,  and  Sam's  con- 

467 


JOHN  BURT 

tinued  prosperity  had  chased  away  the  haunting  fear 
of  poverty.  But  the  love  of  work  remained.  She 
heaped  fuel  on  the  fires  above  the  heated  stones,  set 
,the  tables,  gave  bread  and  butter  to  children  whose 
appetites  could  not  await  the  spreading  of  the 
feast,  and  did  a  hundred  and  one  tasks  which  her 
sharp  eyes  detected. 

"  If  you  don't  quit  workin'  I'll  never  let  you 
come  again,"  was  Sam's  threat. 

"  Never  mind  me,  Samuel,"  said  Mrs.  Rounds 
with  a  happy  smile.  "  This  is  the  first  real  good 
time  I've  had  since  you  made  so  much  money. 
Some  one  has  to  do  this  work  and  why  not  me  ?  Be 
a  good  boy,  Samuel,  and  let  me  alone."  And  Sam 
reluctantly  did  so. 

The  Standish  pointed  her  bow  out  towards 
Minot's  Light,  and  picked  her  way  between  threat- 
ening rocks.  The  splendid  crescent  of  the  beach 
from  Point  Allerton  to  Cohasset  spread  out  before 
them — the  yellow  of  the  sand,  the  deep  green  of  the 
hills,  the  melting  blue  of  the  sky,  the  silver  of  the 
clouds,  the  moving  splendor  of  the  waves,  the  glint 
of  sun  on  far-out  ships,  the  soft  caress  of  the  breeze, 
the  faint  perfume  of  seaweed  and  cone,  the  idle  flap- 
ping of  the  sail,  the  long  slow  heave  of  the  sea — it 
was  glorious  to  live  and  love. 

Under  the  shadow  of  Black  Reef  John  dropped 
the  anchor  and  watched  the  line  until  it  became  taut 
as  the  incoming  tide  swept  them  near  the  rocks. 
Above  his  head  he  could  see  the  spot  where  he  had 


THE E          N          D 

knelt  as  a  boy  and  listened  to  Peter  Burt  while  he 
prayed  to  the  God  who  ruled  the  storm.  For  some 
minutes  no  words  were  spoken. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  last  time  we  were  here, 
Jessie?"  he  asked.  The  little  hand  was  over  the 
side  of  the  boat  and  the  tide  rippled  through  the 
slender  fingers. 

"  Yes,  John,"  without  raising  her  eyes. 

"  Do  you  remember  what  I  said  to  you  that  day, 
Jessie?  " 

"  I — I  think  I  do,  John."  It  may  have  been  the 
reflection  of  the  sun,  but  a  touch  of  crimson  came 
to  her  cheeks.  "  It  was  a  long  time  ago,  John,  and 
perhaps  I've  forgotten  just  what  you  said.  Can  you 
repeat  it?" 

An  arm  reached  out  and  the  little  wet  hand 
was  firmly  clasped. 

"I  told  you  that  I  loved  you,  Jessie,"  he  said. 
The  imprisoned  hand  made  no  attempt  to  escape. 
"I  told  you  that  that  love  was  my  inspiration;  that 
no  woman  on  earth  should  share  it ;  that  no  matter 
whatever  befell  you — sunshine  or  rain,  happiness  or 
sorrow — that  my  ambition  was  to  see  you  showered 
with  all  the  blessings  God  can  grant  to  a  good 
woman ;  I  said  that  if  a  day  came  when  I  had  a  right 
to  ask  your  love  in  return  that  I  should  do  so,  making 
no  claim  on  our  old  friendship.  And  then  you  said 
something,  Jessie — do  you  remember  what  you  said, 
darling?" 

"  I  said  that  I  wanted  you  to  love  me,  but  not 

469 


JOHN  BURT 

to  speak  of  it  again — until  I  said  you  could,"  said 
Jessie,  lifting  her  laughing  eyes.  "  You  can  say  it 
again — if  you  wish  to,  John." 

Two  soft  arms  were  around  his  neck  and  two 
sweet  lips  met  his. 

"You  knew  I  would  wait  for  you,  John,  didn't 
you?" 

Shortly  before  their  wedding-day  John  and  Jes- 
sie galloped  their  horses  along  the  beach.  It  brought 
back  the  old  days.  They  paused  to  rest  beneath 
the  shade  of  trees  at  the  base  of  Strawberry  Hill. 

"You  told  me  an  awful  story,  John,"  she  said, 
looking  into  his  eyes. 

"When?"  asked  John,  innocently. 

"The  night  Mr.  Blake  was  wounded,"  she 
replied,  as  her  hand  stole  into  his.  "  Don't  deny  it, 
John ;  I  know  all  about  it.  Sam  told  me  first,  and 
then  I  made  papa  admit  the  truth.  Every  one  in  Wall 
Street  knows  that  you  are  James  Blake  &  Company, 
even  if  you  have  succeeded  in  keeping  it  out  of  the 
papers.  Mr.  Blake  had  nothing  to  do  with  restor- 
ing papa's  fortune.  You  planned  it,  and  have  kept 
it  a  secret  from  me.  Why,  John  ?  " 

He  made  no  answer. 

"  You  may  as  well  own  up,"  Jessie  continued. 
"I  led  Mr.  Hawkins  into  the  conservatory  the 
other  night,  when  you  were  talking  with  uncle  Tom, 
and  made  him  tell  me  all  about  it.  At  first  he  pre- 
tended he  didn't  wish  to  say  anything,  but  I  could 
see  that  he  was  proud  to  betray  you.  He  told  me 
470 


THE  EN  D 

of  the  founding  of  your  company,  of  your  wonder- 
ful success,  and  of  how  you  so  manipulated  that 
wretched  L.  &  O.  stock  that  it  showered  gold. 
Why  did  you  keep  this  from  me,  John,  and  give  all 
the  credit  to  Mr.  Blake?" 

"  Mr.   Hawkins  is  a  mad  wag,"  laughed  John, 
slipping  his  arm  around  the  slender  waist.     "  He  is 
always  teasing  you.     Come  on,  let's  ride  to  Hull." 
***** 

John  Burt's  modest  mansion  stands  on  the 
crest  of  the  hill  which  slopes  down  to  the  old  farm- 
house. It  commands  a  superb  view  of  the  crescent 
sweep  of  ocean  beach,  and  also  of  the  more  quiet 
beauties  of  Hingham  bay.  Verdant  terraces  and 
yinding  paths  and  roads  come  to  the  edge  of  the 
ard  surrounding  the  old  homestead,  but  no  gar- 
iener's  hand  has  been  permitted  to  touch  the  quaint 
surroundings,  sacred  to  the  ancestral  founder  of  the 
house  of  Burt. 

In  the  long  summer  days  Jessie's  children  play 
about  Peter  Burt's  knees.  Nearly  five  score  years 
have  passed  over  his  head.  His  shoulders  are  bent, 
and  the  voice  falters  at  times,  but  his  eyes  preserve 
the  spark  of  their  wonted  fires. 

Watched  and  cared  for  by  those  who  love  him, 
he  calmly  awaits  the  coming  of  the  reaper,  into 
whose  garner  long  since  have  been  gathered  the 
atoms  of  his  generation. 

A  few  miles  away  another  mansion  fronts  the 
ocean.  James  Blake  and  his  fair  wife  Edith  have 


JOHN  BURT 

been  blessed  with  two  children  and  with  each  other's 
love.  A  roguish  boy  bears  the  name  of  John,  and 
a  dainty  little  miss  responds  to  the  name  of  Jessie. 
James  Blake  is  now  in  fact  as  well  as  in  name  the 
head  of  the  great  firm  so  conspicuous  in  this  narra- 
tive. In  a  thousand  ways  he  has  merited  the  con- 
fidence reposed  in  him  by  John  Burt.  Generous  as 
yet,  almost  to  a  fault,  he  has  acquired  with  respon- 
sibility that  breadth  of  view  and  poise  of  judgment 
which  found  its  highest  expression  in  the  man  who 
made  his  success  possible. 

Retiring  from  active  business  when  most  men 
are  making  a  start,  John  Burt  has  devoted  his  time 
to  the  study  of  statesmanship  in  its  purest  sense. 
Political  honors  have  crowded  upon  him.  There 
are  thousands  who  share  the  confident  faith  of  his 
loving  wife  that  the  highest  place  in  the  gift  of  the 
people  shall  some  day  crown  his  career. 

There  are  frequent  reunions  in  the  old  farm- 
house or  on  the  spacious  lawns  surrounding  John 
Burt's  residence.  Once  a  year  Sam  Rounds  super- 
intends a  clambake,  and  John  Hawkins  always 
manages  to  'be  present.  To  the  latter's  inquiries 
concerning  the  future  Mrs.  Rounds,  Sam  turns  a 
grinning,  untroubled  face. 

"  No  man  in  Rocky  Woods  is  a  bachelor  until 
he  is  way  past  sixty,"  Sam  declares,  "  an'  I'm  spry 
yet  as  a  colt  in  clover.  Sometimes  Ma  Rounds  is  a 
bit  doubtful  erbout  my  matrimonial  chances,  but  I 
has  hopes ;  I  still  has  hopes.  Edith,  may  I  help 

47* 


THE  END 

you  to  some  more  of  them  clams  ?  Jessie,  please 
pass  young  Master  Hurt's  plate ;  it's  empty  already. 
How  that  boy  grows !  He's  coming  up  like  sparrow- 
grass  after  a  rain." 

Mrs.  Rounds  bustles  around,  her  eyes  bright 
with  the  joy  of  being  busy. 

"  You  set  down,  Ma  Rounds,"  commands  Sam 
in  a  hopeless  tone.  "  You  set  right  down  and  let 
us  young  folks  wait  on  the  table.  I  can't  break  her 
of  workin',  John;  I  swan,  I  just  can't  do  nothin' 
with  her.  Well,"  raising  a  glass  of  sparkling  cider, 
"  here's  God  bless  all  good  people,  an'  happy  days 
tew  all  of  ye !  " 


473 


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CAROLINA  LEE.    By  Lillian  BelL    With  frontispiece  by  Dora 
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THE  HO  JSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES.    With  a  frontis- 
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isolated  house,  which  according  to  his  grandfather's  will  shall  then 
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There  is  romance  of  love,  mystery,  plot,  and  fighting,  and  a  breath- 
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fashioned  healthy  American  way.  Shirley  is  a  sweet,  courageous 
heroine  whose  shining  eyes  lure  from  page  to  page. 

ROSALIND  AT  REDGATE.    Illustrated  by  Arthur  I.  Keller. 

The  author  of  "The  House  of  a  Thousand  Candles"  has  here 
given  us  a  bouyant  romance  brimming  with  lively  humor  and  opti- 
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The  N.  Y.  Sun  says :  "  We  commend  it  for  its  workmanship — for  its 
smoothness,  its  sensible  fancies,  and  for  its  general  charm." 

ZELDA  DAMERON.      With  portraits  of  the  characters  by 
t  ,      John  Cecil  Clay. 

••  A  picture  of  the  new  West,  'at  once  startlingly  and  attractively 
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someness  and  a  sturdiness  that  commends  it  to  earnest,  kindly  and 
wholesome  people." — Boston  Transcript. 

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